Here it is, in all its glory. (?) Denotes word I'm unsure of. 

Wal: This is the BBC. 

Seagoon: What beautiful words, Wal. Why donít we set it to music? 

Wal: It would be a jolly good idea. 

Seagoon: Of course! Just stand under this tree and listen. 

Wal: Mmm-hmm. 

Orchestra: Dramatic orchestral music 

Wal: Just a minute. 

Seagoon: Whoah. 

Orchestra stops. 

Wal: Just a minute please. 

Seagoon: What? 

Wal: Just a minute, Mister Seagoon. 

Seagoon: What? What? 

Wal: That music was written by Edward Elgar, Sir. 

Seagoon: Edward Elgar, he got in quick, didnít he? Youíd better watch these composers, same thing happened before. I wrote Handelís Largo, and when I got it to the publishers, heíd already written it. You know what he called it? Handelís Largo, same as me. 

Wal: Is your name Handelís Largo? 

Seagoon: What, what, what, what, what? Youíll get a belt on that big shiny heel(?) of yours. 

Peter: Never mind, there, Hershel(?), never mind. 

Seagoon: Good heavens, itís Peter Sellers, who has just broken his own record of keeping a car for more than a month. 

Peter: Well, you may laugh, Hershel. The trouble is, no-oneís yet invented a Hi-Fi car, that takes films in colour with a built in tape recorder. But the day will comes, markee. (Does car impressions). 

Seagoon: Stop those car impressions. 

Peter: I canít. This is a chauffeur-driven impression. Stop here, James. (Impression of car stopping) 

Seagoon: How can you afford such expensive impressions? 

Peter: Because I do a brilliant impression of a large bank account. 

Seagoon: Splendid! Youíre just the type to do the impressions in our most recent leather Goon Show, entitled The Space Age! 

Orchestra: Spacey Music 
FX: Bring in Morse code over music, music fades 

Hern announcer (Peter): (Over Morse) When news of the new Russian satellite was released on the Sunday, the high-ranking British astronomers were unfortunately away for the weekend. However, the moment they were informed of the phenomena, they immediately continued their weekend holiday. 

Wal: But in Hailsham, a small English village just across the Channel from France, an Englishman staunch and true was at work. 

Seagoon: Ah, thatís my cue, thank you Wal. (Clears throat) Now whereís my tin speaking trumpet? (Through megaphone) Hello folks, hello folks! Calling folks! This is Gunner Neddie Seagoon, speaking to you, from a hayloft in a barn at Tool Farm. I am carrying out a vital scientific experiment, folks. I am discovering how long a World War One army deserter can survive in a hayloft on horse fodder, raw carrots, grass, cardboard, string, rope, old actors(?) 

FX: Knocking 

What? Whoís that? (Louder) Halt, who goes there! Shoot, and Iíll fire! 

Grytpype-Thynne: Ah, good morning, ragged military gentleman. 

Moriarty: Owww. 

Seagoon: Good heavens! Itís the military police! 

Grytpype: Yes, Neddie. 

Seagoon: Itís all a mistake, I tell you, I didnít know the 56th heavy regiment was sailing for North Africa, I, I overslept, thatís all. I, Iím not afraid of the Germans! (Shouts) Come out and fight! Down with the Kaiser! (normal) There, you see, Iím a Campion(?) (Sings) Rule Britannia, Thereíll always be an England. Hrmm. 

Grytpype: They all say that, you know. 

Seagoon: What, what, what, what, what? 

Grytpype: There, there, Neddie, little Neddie, we are bearers of grand tidings. 

Seagoon: Huzzah, of course. The Kingís pardon. 

Grytpype: (Laughing) Well, not quite, Neddie. 

Seagoon: Have we captured Berlin yet? 

Grytpype: The war, Berlin yes. Yes it fell to us, but we lost it again. 

Seagoon: Good heavens. Walled War One still on. (accidentally mispronounces World) 

Moriarty: (ad-libs) Will war whim still on? 

Seagoon: World War One, you try and say it. 

Seagoon and Moriarty mispronounce World War One in a variety of ways. 

Moriarty: Alberigum, thatíll be said for World War One. Yes, at this very moment the Germans are attacking the Bank of England. 

Seagoon: Strange. I havenít heard any gunfire. 

Grytpype: (whispers) Moriarty, quick, your World War One impressions. 

Moriarty: Bang bang, ratatata boom, bang, (continues under) 

Wal: We would like to assure nervous listeners that the shellfire they hear is not genuine. It is being done orally by an unscrupulous military policeman, who takes protection money from deserters like Neddie, who are not aware that the war is over. And if youíll pardon me, Iíll slip away before they notice my Boer War helmet! 

Moriarty: Bang bang boom, ratatata bang, boom. BANG! 

Seagoon: Good heavens, that last one was close. 

Grytpype: Yes. 

Seagoon: Look, lads. Iíve had enough of this. Iíve only got three shillings. 

Grytpype and Moriarty: Oww! 

Grytpype: Just one moment, please. 

Grytpype and Moriarty: (Fast incomprehensible discussion. The words Charlie and Money can be heard) 

(Long pause) 

Moriarty: Oh yes! Um, Neddie, weíve got a little invention here we call "The Deserterís Friend"! 

Seagoon: What is it?! A woman?! 

Grytpype: No Neddie. With this gadget you can hide in space. 

Seagoon: Space? But Iím taking up too much already. 

Grytpype: Lad, we have perfected a method of getting a man off the ground under his own power. He needs no other means of propulsion. 

Seagoon: What, what, what, what, what, (turns into chicken noises) Has it been successful? 

Grytpype: Successful? (Laughing) Do you hear that, Count? (Both laugh) Why, even last night, the dear Count here, went up on the heath, and unaided, elevated himself into space to the height of twenty feet. 

Seagoon: Gad! Whatís this invention called? 

Grytpype: A ladder. Of course I may think of a better name for it later, but... 

Seagoon: No, no, no, ladderís a good name for it. , I must tell Folks, just a minute, my trumpet. (Through trumpet) Calling folks! Hello folks! With this invention I can go on being a deserter forever! The military police will never find me up there, folks! (normal) How much? 

Grytpype: Well, to anyone else, Neddie, ten shillings. But to you, 38 pounds. 

Seagoon: I couldnít take advantage; Iíll pay what everyone else does. Ten shillings. How would you like it? 

Grytpype: In thirty-eight one-pound notes. 

Seagoon: Right. See, Iíve got forty pounds here; Iíll just peel them off. Forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight. There. Thirty-eight pounds. 

Grytpype: Thank you, Ned. Now pick a card, donít let me se it, what is it? 

Seagoon: The forty-three of diamonds. 

Grytpype: You lose; pay pontoons only, twenty-eight pounds, Neddie. 

FX: Till. 

Grytpype: Thank you. 

Moriarty: Now Neddie, here, Neddie, are full scale plans of a ladder. 

Seagoon: These plans are made of paper! 

Grytpype: Yes, Ned. If chased by military police, place plans against wall, climb up, and then fold the plans up after you. 

Seagoon: Brilliant! But Iíd better not take any chances, (of course, of course from Grytpype) I think Iíll make a wooden one. 

Grytpype: Splendid. And here to cover the sound of your carpentry is Max Geldray to play his old Dutch muffled teeth! 

Max Geldray: Musical interlude. 

Wal: that was Max Geldray who played "Standing inside a pair of Trousers". You will remember that Neddie has built himself a ladder. Part Two, we find him hiding at the top. 

GRAMS: General traffic noises, continues under 

Seagoon: Hello folks, calling folks. Iím in a deserterís paradise, folks, balanced on top of a secret twenty-foot ladder, in the middle of Piccadilly circus. 

Wal: And damned silly you look, too, Mister Seagoon. 

Seagoon: Shh! Quiet, Wal. Do you want people to see me? 

Wal: It matters not if they do. The crux being that, World War One from which you hide, was terminated in 1918. 

Seagoon: Ohh, ohhh, ohhh! Thirty-eight years Iíve been a coward for nothing! Wait! That means they owe me thirty-eight years coward deserters back pay! Iíd better get down to Whitehall. 

Orchestra: Bloodnok theme. 

Bloodnok: Ohhohhhohh, oh dear, oh dear. Oh dear, dear, that Chinese ginger, there ought to be a law against it you know. Ah, well! Itís time the delightful Madame La Tool was here. Get me handkerchief, and me electric tango boots on. Now, turn the gas stove down low. Must have a romantic atmosphere, you know. 

FX: Knocking. 

Bloodnok: Thatís here now. Iíll just put the light out. 

FX: Gunshot. 

Bloodnok: Owww! Got it right in the filaments, now. 

FX: Door opens. 

Bloodnok: Ahh, Millie, ahh Millie, to me arms, darling, and let us waltz. 

Orchestra: Old-fashioned waltz music. 

Bloodnok: (singing) Letís waltz the whole night through, 
The Darjeeling one-step with you, 
Itís cooler than Poona, 
And Iíd rather sooner, 
Do it in Darjeeling with you, 
Out in the old bazaar, 
Iíll give a loud Huzzah! 
Letís live our moment, 
In Bombay cantonment, 
The Darjeeling one-step with you, with you, 
The Darjeeling one-step with you! 

Bloodnok: I kiss your hand Madame, oww, owwgarawowowww. 

Seagoon: And thatís as far as it goes. Iím promised to another. 

Bloodnok: I donít know who you are sir, or where youíve come from, but youíve done me a power of good, Iíll tell you. 

Seagoon: Well, Iím Gunner Ned Seagoon. 

Bloodnok: What are you doing on top of that ladder, sir? World War One is over. 

Seagoon: I know, Iím practising for the next one. 

Bloodnok: But how can you, they havenít written the music for it yet. 

Seagoon: Of course they have sir, it goes like this! 

GRAMS: Explosion 

Bloodnok: Whatís it called? 

Seagoon: World War Two. 

Bloodnok: Wait a moment, I, whereís me old photographs, just a minute. Arenít you Gunner Ned Seagoon of the Deserters bound Hailsham. 

Seagoon: Yes. 

Bloodnok: Then what are you doing deserting your own cowardís post. 

Seagoon: I heard the Kaiserís surrendered. 

Bloodnok: Nonsense sir. Singhiz, do some impressions. 

Singhiz: Bang bang bang ratatat boom bang 

Bloodnok: There. You heard that with your own ears. German World War One rifle fire, interpreted into English by Havaldar Singhiz-Things. 

Seagoon: Iíd better get back on duty as a coward then. 

FX: Door opens. 

Messenger: Owwowwow, Major, ahh, the ahh Russians have forced a ahh satellite into the ow ionosphere. 

Bloodnok: The filthy swines. And me with only one change of underwear. 

Wal: May I explain, Major. 

Bloodnok: What, what? 

Wal: I said, may I explain. 

Bloodnok: Well get on with it, then. 

Wal: Well, this is a satellite moon circling the Earth. 

Bloodnok: The great Space Race has begun. Men, on your marks, get set! 

FX: Starting pistol. 

Wal: And so England joined in the attempt to conquer space. The question was, how could we gat ahead of Russia? Soon, the great all-leather laboratory at Neasden was working full-blast on a project. 

FX: Various clangs, plenty of time between them. 

Crun: Now Min, Min, get this, get this rocket strapped up your back, and stand in the fireplace. 

Minnie: All right, Henry. 

Crun: And remember modern Min, keep your elbows well in till youíre clear of the chimney. 

Minnie: Oh, dear. What about the heat from the rocket, Henry. 

Crun: Well, hold the lid of this biscuit tin behind you, to protect you nether limbs. Now modern Min... 

Minnie: Bowwww! 

Crun: Owww! When youíre well clear of the Earth, get extra power!, by strapping on these leather duck wings. 

Minnie: How do I operate them, Henry? 

Crun: Donít worry, modern Min. As soon as youíre up, this instruction manual on leather wings will be rocketed up to you. Now let us check your outer space nourishments pack. 

Minnie: All right, Henry. Let me see, one all-leather bag... 

Crun: Ahh, two and thruppence... 

Minnie: Packet of Indian peeee! Net weight quarter pouuund... 

Crun: Eight pence, farthing... 

Minnie: And a small brown loaf. Oh, what are, what are the old... 

Crun: Now your medical survival kit. 

Minnie: Oh, the survival, yes. 

Crun: One fishtooo! One outer space lemon and horsehair poultice. 

Minnie: Booow! 

Crun: One stratosphere packet of ling senapods, Anne Alistairís horse oils, one bottle of Indian brandyyyy! 

Minnie: Nyoooooo! 

Crun: Now Min, think yourself lucky to have modern science at your disposal! 

Minnie: Oh, are you going to dispose of me, Hen? 

Crun: Not yet... 

FX: Knocking 

Minnie: Oh, weíll all be murdered in our beds! 

Crun: Wait a minute (calls) Coming, sir! Min, donít go up till I come. 

Minnie: (Idiot noises under Crun above) 

FX: Door opens 

Seagoon: Oh, help me sir! The military police are after me! 

Crun: I canít think what they see in you, sir. Where are you? 

Seagoon: On top of this ladder. 

Crun: Oh, youíre in the airforce, then! Come in. 

FX: Door shuts 

Crun: Now sir, you are just in time to be Britainís Ė 

FX: Match striking 

Crun: First woman into space! 

GRAMS: Rocket taking off. 

Minnie: (Over rocket) Ohhhhhh! 

Seagoon: Good heavens! Sheís gone up the chimney! 

Crun: Yes! Now to pick up here signals on this wireless set. 

FX: Radio-type noises, continues under 

Crun: Calling Min, calling modern Min. 

Minnie: (Sings Ďcrazy modern rhythm musicí) 

Crun: Ah-hah! England now has a successful Min Bannister circling the Earth! Min, can you tell us your exact position? 

Minnie: Iím stuck half-way up the chimney! 

Crun: Ohh, Min! This has put England years behind. We must defeat the chimney barrier. 

Seagoon: Donít worry. I have an invention here which can get her well clear of the chimney, and into space! Yes! Itís called a twenty-foot ladder, because of its length. 

Crun: Quick, get it up the chimney there. 

Both: (Strains) 

Crun: Now up you go. Can you reach her? 

Seagoon: (from a distance) Not quite. The ladderís not long enough. 

Crun: (calls) Donít worry (sotto) Just put this handy interballistic rocket to the bottom of the ladder, light the fuse, so... 

FX: Match striking 

GRAMS: Rocket blasting off 

(short pause) 

Minnie: Ohh, ohhhh! 

Crun: Whatís the matter, Min? 

Minnie: A man just went past me on a ladder! 

Crun: Min, this is a great day for army deserters. 

Minnie: Why? 

Crun: The first one has just been launched into space! Letís send up Ray Ellington! Come along... 

Ray Ellington: Musical Interlude. 

Orchestra: Return-to-story chords., followed by end of a piece of music. 

Omnes: Clapping, idiot approvals 

Wal: The scene is the opera house Aldershot. A critical first-night audience are judging the military police solo ballet contest. 

Military MC (Harry): Thank you, thank you, and now for a homecall(?), Lance-Corporal Ninger will dance the solo part from the console(?) ballet, Cupoder(?). 

Messenger: (running on) Stop! Stop! Stop the concert! Stop the concert! 

Omnes: Cries of disapproval 

Military idiot: Please, this is a, this is a great day for the military police. As you know men, since the last war thirty-three men, and that is one third of the male population of England, have been deserters. Well, we have found one of them! 

GRAMS: Massive cheering 

Another military idiot: Well, whereís, ah, whereís this deserter, there? Whereís this old deserter, there? 

Military idiot: Well, Iíll tell you, there. Weíve got him trapped. Heís circling the Earth 500 mile up. So, step forward the tallest man in the regiment. 

F.X.: Boots, stepping two steps forward. 

Military idiot: Brave man, whatís your name? 

Eccles: Lance-Corporal Ecc, Lance-Corporal Eccles. 

Military idiot: Youíre not the tallest man in the regiment. 

Eccles: Well, the fellers that pushed me forward seem to think so. 

Military idiot: All right, pick a partner and Iíll arrange transport. 

Eccles: All right. Um, let me see now... Nope, not him... no, not you, youíve had it... no, no... Ahh ha ha! Yeou. 

Bluebottle: You would pick me, you big steaming nit, you, Eccles! 

Eccles: Oh, Bottle, Bottle! 

Bluebottle: Donít you Bottle me! Iím on my way to do my Mumís shopping, I am! (to self) Half a cake, a small brown, tin of salmon, quarter black shag. (normal) I donít want to play this military police game. Whatís the matter with you, man? 

Eccles: Owwowohohh! 

Bluebottle: Itís all right you saying that! (to self) Half pound sago, quarter rice, one tin condensed milk. (normal) My Mum says with all these politicians about, Iím not to play in the park! 

Ray: Right, come on you two! Fall in! Now, march behind each other. By the right, quick march! Left, left, left right left... (goes off into distance) 

Bluebottle: Weíd better follow him, hadnít we, Eccles? 

Orchestra: Old Comrades March (possibly), followed by dramatic Minor chords 

Wal: (with muffled orders in background) At dawn, as you can hear, a great military police space rocket was prepared. The red cap was screwed on, and inside, final orders were given. 

Captain (Harry): (pompous) Now men, cigarettes out. As you chaps know, we are about to make the first arrest of a deserter in outer space. Now sergeants, five seconds from now, weíll synchronize instruments. Five, four, three, two, one! 

Orchestra: A collection of instruments warming up. 

Captain: Splendid! Right, now men, you all know your stations. 

Eccles: Clapham Junction. 

Captain: Shut up, Eccles. 

Eccles: Shut up... (dribbles off) 

Omnes: A short round of ĎShut up, Ecclesí 

Captain: Now then, shut up Eccles, now then, switch on the heat generator! 

GRAMS: Generator starts 

Captain: Raise engine temperature! 

Lackey: (off) Engine temperature raised, sir. 

GRAMS: Generator gets louder 

Captain: Combine maximum heat power! 

Lackey: (off) Heat power at maximum! 

GRAMS: Generator louder again. 

Captain: Right, Bluebottle, feel those pipes! 

Bluebottle: Oww! Thatís hot! 

Captain: Thatís hot enough. Fire! 

Eccles: Fire, where? Oh, the rocket. Fire the rocket! 

GRAMS: Rocket takes off 

Captain: All right chaps, weíre 500 miles up, now, and well clear of the Earth. Remove liberty bodices and replace dentures. 

FX: Slurping noises of dentures being removed 

Ray: Captain, captain look! Thereís a face at the window. 

Captain: What? Draw the curtains. I wonder who it is. What height are we at? 

Ray: 492 miles. 

Captain: Hmm, canít be Seagoon, heís only 4 foot 9. 

Bluebottle: Wait a minute captain, heís standing on a ladder, and heís got no clothes on! 

Captain: So, improperly dressed, eh? 

Bluebottle: No, heís not dressed at all! Heís N-U-D-E! 

Captain: Thatís him, Nudey Seagoon! 

Eccles: Nude? Give me them binoculars. Ohhh. 

FX: Knocking 

Bloodnok: I say. I say, it is Seagoon. Heís knocking to come in, thereís manners for you. 

Captain: Donít let him in Major! 

Bloodnok: Why not? 

Harry: I canít play two parts at once. 

Bloodnok: Well, get out. 

FX: Door opens. Wind. Door closes. 

Bloodnok: Thatís got rid of him. Now, let deserter Seagoon in. 

FX: As above 

Seagoon: Ahh, thank you Major. (megaphone) Hello folks, calling folks. Itís me, folks, Neddie. Iím saved! 

GRAMS: Ovation, cheering 

Grytpype: Stop! Deserter Seagoon, youíre under military arrest. 

Seagoon: Iím not frightened any more, World War One is over. 

Moriarty: Ah, yes, but since then, weíve had World War Two! 

Seagoon: Ahh, (hysterical rubbish), ohh, I must hide! 

Grytpype: Yes, Neddie. Now for a few shillings a week we know a nice little spot where you can hide... 

Seagoon: Yes, but youíll tell me when itís over, wonít you 

(Seagoon, Grytpype and Moriarty gabble rubbish, then fade) 

Wal: You see, itís all in the mid, you know. 

Orchestra: Playout music, down for: 

Wal: That was the Goon Show, a BBC recorded program featuring Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe and Spike Milligan, with the Ray Ellington Quartet, Max Geldray, and the orchestra conducted by Wally Stott. Script by Spike Milligan and Larry Stephens. Announcer, Wallace Greenslade, the program produced by Roy Spears. 

Orchestra: Playout music.