BILL: This is the BBC.
HARRY: Gad, it sounds as young as ever, even more so.
PETER: Jove, you're right Nules, say it again Wireless Man.
BILL: This is the BBC Light Programme.
HARRY: It makes you glad to he alive, strengthens the shins, and diminishes the Spon.
PETER: By Jupiter, you're right I'll warrant 'ee. Tell us little Establishment Unit, who invented the BBC Light Prog?
BILL: A Midlothian hedonist, one Mr Arthur Cack OBE, one of England's unsung heroes.
PETER: Did he? Then he won't get away with it, I'll warrant you.
SEAGOON: Stop folks; Hello folks, this is Neddie folks. Tinga-ling, ah the telephone folks.
F.X.: PHONE TAKEN OFF HOOK
ECCLES: Hello? SEAGOON Hello?
SEAGOON: Splendid, ring again tomorrow and we'll have another game.
BILL: That vacuous little cameo was in the nature of an entrEe to the main steaming ning-nong, plitt platt toof tangg. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Kleens of Blenc~inghall, the story of an ordinary English comedy half-hour.
ORCHESTRA: STATELY HOME THEME - HELD UNDER
PETER: (as cocky pipe-smoking Englishman) Hello, my name is, (mumbles) Smarmnelyby nera, a, a I want to tell you about the illustrious Seagoons. He was an ordinary Welsh crofter's son who became a very ordinary Prime Minister, joined the Coldstreams at the outbreak of the Armistice and rose to the rank of Private. Let us go back to that ecstatic spring of June, 1887, (fading) when all... (mumbles).
ORCHESTRA: FLUTE & BIRDS SONG IN SPRINGTIME THEME
GRAMS: TWITTERING BIRDS IN A SURREY WOOD, HORSE CANTERS UP THE GRAVEL DRIVE
SEAGOON: Tally Ho, hoi, yoicks, gone away, address not known... some fox ha ha ha... where is that lazy old Irish groom, O'Blast?
RAY: Here I is yo Lordship.
SEAGOON: Oh, Ellington, how many times must I tell you not to stand in the shade, you ruin the colour-scheme. Now, where's me Lady Lavinia Seagoon?
RAY: She's in the great granite Baronial dining-hall.
SEAGOON: What's she doing?
RAY: Eatin' chips.
SEAGOON: Chips? Ah, ha ha, she must be practising for dinner time. Drive me there.
GRAMS: CAR STARTS UP - STOPS IMMEDIATELY
SEAGOON: Thank you Ellington. Mother~ Mother~ Oh Mummy?
LADY: SEAGOON What is it Roger darling?
SEAGOON: Oh Daddy, what are you doing at home?
LADY: SEAGOON I live here, and I'm Mummy not Daddy, you've got to know the difference some time.
SEAGOON: Gad, this revelation makes me a man of the world, no more short trousers for me.
LADY: SEAGOON Excused shorts. Oh how proud your father would have been. Now tell me all about the fox-hunt.
SEAGOON: It was wonderful mother. A beautiful spring morning, flowers blooming, and blood everywhere. Oh it's grand to be in England.
BAZIL: SEAGOON Hello mother, hello Rodney... by Jove, I'm dashed hungry.
LADY: SEAGOON Bazil darling, where's your chin gone?
BAZIL: I've never had one Mummy.
LADY: SEAGOON You poor thing... Ahh what a morning Bazil, the first spring oaktrees pushing their branches up through the lawn.
SEAGOON: Not again, they did the same thing last year.
LADY: SEAGOON I know, it's such a bore isn't it. Let's have tea.
GRAMS: GREAT CLANGING OF CHURCH BELLS OF VARIOUS SIZES ALL CONCENTRATED
F.X.: DOOR OPENS
THROAT: Who rang dem bells?
SEAGOON: I did, serve tea Jeeves.
THROAT: (growls) I'll give you tea.
F.X.: SMASHING OF A LARGE TEA SET, SPOONS AND ALL ACCOUTREMENT
LADY: SEAGOON Ohhh dear... help (all over above). Rodney, speak to him!
SEAGOON: Hello, Jeeves, I see that Barnsley took another bashin' on Saturday.
F.X.: GREAT SMASH ON NED'S HEAD WITH GIANT PLATE
SEAGOON: Ohh that does it. Jeeves, I'm giving you a week's notice.
LADY: SEAGOON Are you mad? Servants are so hard to get.
SEAGOON: Jeeves, I'm giving you twenty-years notice.
THROAT: I quit... I just won the pools.
SEAGOON: No tea, very well, we'll have...
GRAMS: RUNNING CROWD OF BOOTS AND WHOOPS OF DELIGHT
MAX: Dis can only mean that Geldray is left holding the conk boy.
MAX: - MUSIC ORCHESTRA
GRAMS: RETURN OF GREAT RUNNING BOOTS
BILL: (gasping) Just made it... Part two, a vacancy filled.
F.X.: KNOCK ON DOOR - DOOR OPENS
SEAGOON: What do you want?
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Lord Seagoon?
SEAGOON: Yes, and I have a licence to prove it.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: My friend and I were in Edgware, taking the waters of the horsetrough, when we observed this advert in the London Gazette, and I quote 'Wanted, Butler with complete Tea-Service.'
SEAGOON: Yes, that's mine.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Why is it in the obituary column?
SEAGOON: It's 3d. a line cheaper in there. Are you applying for the vacancy?
MORIARTY: Yes we are. We want to work in the food department where there's food, nice food.
SEAGOON: Pardon me, but that old hat-stand appears to be animate.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: You do him a disservice sir, that hat-stand is the bona fide remains of what was once the great Count Jim 'Strains-Supreme'...
F.X.: VICIOUS OIL DRUM WITH THE WAX STRING. VICIOUS TONE TEMPLE BLOCKS. RATTLE, BRIEF,
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: ... Moriarty, last of the great butlers. He has waited at table bus-stops and YWCA windows. Hit him with this beater.
ORCHESTRA: GREAT CHINESE GONG IS WALLOPPED
MORIARTY: (over above) Dinner is served.
SEAGOON: He sounds like a butler. Have you any recommendations?
GRYTFYPE-THYNNE: Of course we have... Count, unroll the scrolls and documents!
GRAMS: & F.X. LOAD OF METALLIC RUBBISH. A DOZEN PINGPONG BALLS BOUNCE ON THE FLOOR, HANDFULS OF MARBLES. OLD BUCKETS.
MORIARTY: And there's more where that come from.
SEAGOON: Very well, you start work at once, lay the table for the Hunt Banquet. Here's the key to the gold-plate.
MORIARTY: Goldddddddddddd? Ahhhhhhhhh...
F.X: FALL OF BODY
SEAGOON: Is he unconscious?
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: No, he's in a food trance. There's only one cure Neddie, a fifteen-course dinner then a drive round the grounds in a car with the gold-plate in a sack.
SEAGOON: What, give you my gold-plate? I don't know you from Adam.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Well we're better dressed. Really sir, don't hesitate, you are dicing with death and our future prosperity.
GRAMS: HEAVY FEASTING OF TWO MEN. OCCASIONAL GRUNTING OF A PIG EATING AND SNUFFLING.
MORIARTY: AND GRYTPYPE CAN BE OVERHEARD.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Ha ha ha ha. How's that Moriarty?
MORIARTY: Ha ha ha I'm feeling a little better now.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Good, good. Another quellth of plitts?
LADY: SEAGOON (over above) They've been eating for seventeen hours now. SEAGOON Yes yes yes, but they've nearly finished.
GRAMS: PLATES BEING DROPPED INTO A SACK
LADY: SEAGOON They're taking my gold-plate.
GRAMS: CAR DRIVING AWAY
SEAGOON: It's all right, it's only part of that poor man's cure, Mother. They're only going to drive around the grounds, don't worry. (fade) They'll be hack in five minutes. Ha ha ha ha...
ORCHESTRA: SHORT CLIPPED CHORD
POLICE: CO~STABLE And you say it's fifteen years since they stole the gold-plate?
SEAGOON: Yes, fifteen years and three minutes to the day.
POLICE: CONSTABLE How~is it you didn't report this sooner?
SEAGOON: I overslept.
POLICE: CONSTABLE I see, yeas... Any nut-cases in your family?
SEAGOON: No, mostly leather.
POLICE: CONSTABLE I see, now these gold plates, are they valuable sir?
SEAGOON: Yes, they had food on them.
POLICE: CONSTABLE RIGHT! So that's sixty large gold plates and sixty small..-. anything else?
SEAGOON: Oh yes, one coal sack.
POLICE: CONSTABLE Is it valuable?
SEAGOON: Yes, it's got the plates inside.
F.X.: PHONE RINGS. PHONE OFF HOOK.
POLICE: CONSTABLE Bow Street Police Station, criminals done while you wait, Hello... Oh it's for you me lord.
ECCLES: Snap dat's two games to me.
SEAGOON: Right, you been practisin'?
ECCLES: Yer, dat's why I'm winnin'. Well I better get back.
F.X.: PHONE DOWN
POLICE: CONSTABLE Excuse me sir... While you were talking, this sludge was dredged up in the English Channel.
SEAGOON: What? Search his pockets for salt water.
MORIARTY: It's all a mistake. I'm a female channel swimmer, I tell you... here's a record to prove it.
GRAMS: SPLASH. SEAL BARK. BAGPIPES.
SEAGOON: You imposter, that's a seal. But why the bagpipes? MORIARTY It's the Great Seal of Scotland.
SEAGOON: Now I recognise you by the air you're breathing... you're Count Jim Moriarty from the body of the same name. Officer, search that suit, inside you'll find a man, arrest him.
POLICE: CONSTABLE Come on now son, where are them gold plates? MORIARTY You can't make me talk.
MORIARTY: Oh Ha, you've made me talk. I'll tell you Grytpype took all the gold-plate to Algiers.
SEAGOON: Spain... Taxi!
MAX: Where you going darling?
SEAGOON: Follow that continent, darling.
GRAMS: CAR DRIVES OFF WITH CHICKENS CLUCKING
BILL: The combined sound of an automobile and a hen, was especially recorded for motoring enthusiasts who keep chickens. Now part two. A chase across continents. The trail of the gold plates led Lord Seagoon to Marrakesh.
GRAMS: WOG MUSIC... TRIO WITH A FEMALE VOCAL
F.X.: CLATTER OF AN EASEL OR SIMILAR
SEAGOON: Opps, I'm terribly sorry... sir.
PETER: I should think so too.
SEAGOON: My information led me to a coffee-house, just off the main caravan route, where outside the sun purged the streets of shade. Inside, all was cool and jasymined.
GRAMS: SWEETER WOG MUSIC. SOUND OF A FOUNTAIN PLAYING.
SEAGOON: In an Alambrhan tesselated forecourt, a fountain played on the purple water-lilies. Couched in lattice recesses, purdered Tureg beauties attended local sheiks. I was conducted to a low Morrocan coffee-table. My attendant wore the bleached robes of a Nomad arab. His burnoose was contained with a rope of black camel hair, at his waist a curved Hedjez dagger protruded from his cummerbund. He bowed low, touched his forehead in time-honoured Islamic salute and spoke.
WILLIUM: The boiled fish and rice puddin's orf mate.
SEAGOON: I see... ahem, your accent is familiar, Oh Arab prince.
WILLIUM: Yernnnn, I went to Kolidge in Kambridge, oh English mate.
SEAGOON: What were you studying?
WILLIUM: Cockney... I got it orf pat.
SEAGOON: Did you?
WILLIUM: He didn't mind.
SEAGOON: Tell me, oh Arab prince, have you ever heard of a Hercules GrytpypeThynne?
WILLIUM: What's it used for?
SEAGOON: A name, a name called Hercules Grytpype-Thynne.
WILLIUM: Bit of a mouthful isn't it?
SEAGOON: I agree, but do you know a man who is called by it?
: WILLIUM I knows a bald-headed old woman called Rattler Blotts.
: SEAGOON No, that doesn't sound like him ...
SPIKE: Hello, hello Ladies and Gentlemen, now then, the management of
this: club has imported Ray Ellington all the way from London. Take it away, now.
RAY: ELLINGTON MUSIC. QUARTET
BILL: During the marde fun ilie of that music, Lord Seagoon greased his boots and slipped away to see the last British Ambassador in Marrakesh.
ORCHESTRA: BLOODNOK THEME WITH WOG FLUTE LEAD
GRAMS: (START BEFORE MUSIC STOPS) THUNDER, LIGHTNING, RAIN ON TIN ROOF DRIPPING INTO A WATER BUTT. SKITTLES ALL BEING KNOCKED OVER BY A BALL IN AN ECHOEY BOWLING ALLEY.
BLOODNOK: Ohh dear, it's a wonder what the human body can stand up to. Ohh,
now: for a kip on full Ambassadors pay. Wonder what Gladwyn Jebb's doing.
RAY: (rage) Bloodnokkkkkkkkkk! BLOODNOK (falls to pieces) Ohh.
F.X.: BITS AND PIECES FALL ON FLOOR
BLOODNOK: The Red Bladder Oww!
F.X.: TIN CAN HITS FLOOR
BLOODNOK: (miles off) Go away, or I'll take my wig off.
RAY: Bloodnok, don't be frite mate, I come to do business. Me got money.
BLOODNOK: Ohhhh, you said the secret British password.
RAY: Me want guns, bullets and drip-dry shirts.
F.X.: UNROLLING MAP
BLOODNOK: Ohh ha ha, go to this spot on the map, dig upwards for ten feet and
you'll: find 'em buried up a tree.
RAY: Good. Now here's the payment mate.
BLOODNOK: A gold plate? Ohh, just what I've always wanted for me din-dins.
F.X.: DOOR BURSTS OPEN
SEAGOON: Which one of you two men is the British Ambassador? BLOODNOK What? Does my Union Jack nightshirt mean nothing to you?
SEAGOON: What's it doing round your ankles?
BLOODNOK: It's been lowered for the night I tell you. It's hell when it's at half-mast.
SEAGOON: Major, I'm on the trail of some stolen gold plates.
BLOODNOK: Stolen??? Are you...
F.X.: A PLATE DROPS TO THE FLOOR, ROLLS ALONG AND ROUND AND ROUND UNTIL IT STOPS
SEAGOON: (over above) A gold plate...!
BLOODNOK: Nonsense! That's my Golden Record Award, for me millionth record of...
GRAMS: PIANO PLAYING BY PETER - BLOODNOK SINGING 'I don't know who you are Sir, or where you come from but you've done me a power of good (EXPLOSION) I don't know who you are Sir, or where you come from but you've done me a power of good. I was standing there Sir, doing up me boot, suddenly from a back street I saw this hairy brute... (F.X. PHONE RINGS)
: BLOODNOK Snap, that's got rid of him, sssoooo... (sings) I don't know who you are Sir, or where you come from, but you've done me a power of good. (record speeds up) You've done, you've done me... a power of (pause) GOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDD!
SEAGOON: I don't believe it.
RAY: Stop! Me know man who got lot of gold-plate... mate. Captain of Foreign Legion, Fort Sidi Bel Abbes mate.
SEAGOON: Right. Seagoon? - yes - Follow that pointed finger darling - right.
GRAMS: RUNNING BOOTS WITH QUEEN MARY'S HOOTER BOTH DEPARTING AND SPEEDING UP
BILL: I will now announce the Fort of Sidi Bel Abbes in fluent French, ze Fort at Sidi Bel Abbes in Fluent French.
GRAMS: MEN MARCHING. DISTANT ORDERS IN FRENCH. -
HARRY: (French accent) Mon Captain zere is a bundle of low-grade rags to zee you.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Low-grade rags... nonsense!
HARRY: He zays he knew your mother.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Oh Dear.
MORIARTY: Ohhhh Grytpype, my son, your French Daddy.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: You steamer, I told you not to hang round me during your lifetime.
MORIARTY: You promised me one of the plates, I demand...
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Sergeant, throw this revolutionary in the Shatt el Arab prison.
HARRY: Come on you.
BOTH: GO OFF PROTESTING ... TAKES A VERY LONG TIME TO GET TO THE DOOR. FINALLY IN THE EXTREME DISTANCE...
GRAMS: DISTANT SHOTS AND SHOUTS AS ARABS ATTACK
HARRY: Sacre Bleu, Mon Captain, ze Arabs are ze attacking us? (English) Bang Bang.
CRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Bang Bang? So they're shooting at us in English are they. Man the ramparts and any other parts you can get hold of.
ORCHESTRA: DRAMATIC WAR MUSIC
GRAMS: DISTANT SOUND OF THE BATTLE
BLUEBOTTLE: Bangee, Bangee... Bangee. Another Arab crashes down to the rifle-but of Beau Bluebottle, gar~on de Legion.
ECCLES: BANG Banggggg... Click... Oh, a dud. BLUEBOTTLE Do you like wars, Eccles?
ECCLES: Yer Vanilla flavoured wars are good.
BLUEBOTTLE: Which side are you on, the Arabs or the Foreign Legion?
ECCLES: I don't know, dere both shooting at me. Why did you join the Legion?
BLUEBOTTLE: It's the same old story mon ami. I joined to forget a woman, Miriam Reene of 33 Croft Street, Ea£t Finchley. She turned me down for Dave Freeman.
ECCLES: Oh, was he better looking?
BLUEBOTTLE: He, he, he, no. She said to us... at playtime she said, ... Eccles, don't do dat you'll get into trouble,.. well, at playtime she said to me and Dave. (puts on voice) 'Who shows the most gets me.
ECCLES: You won?
BLUEBOTTLE: No, I only got a bit of string, and he got a fourpence and a saucer of water.
ECCLES: Ohh, some people are born rich. BLUEBOTTLE Oh ho hum.
ECCLES: What'd what'd the matter?
BLUEBOTTLE: I haven't had any sleep all night. You know that film 'Room at the Top'?
BLUEBOTTLE: Well, I'm in the room underneath 'em.
F.X.: PHONE RINGS
ECCLES: Fort Sidi Bel Abbes here, Comme on talivous.
SEAGOON: (distort as Eccles) Hello?
EGGLES: Hello? SEAGOON Snap.
ECCLES: Oh tres bon.
SEAGOON: That's three games to one, right. Come down and let me in the back door.
GRAMS: MAD RUSH OF BOOTS DOWN WOODEN STEPS. TAKES A LONG TIME.
F.X.: DOOR OPENS
ECCLES: Dey played that record too fast. SEAGOON That's it, go on, give all our secrets away.
ECCLES: O.K. Bluebottle's shirts are made from his mum's old drawers.
BLUEBOTTLE: Fermez le bouch vous, Or je will blat vous on le conk. (confused arguments)
SEAGOON: Listen little string and teeth soldier, the Captain of this fort is a criminal, so what we are going to do is this... (fade)
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Who's that? Is that you darling?
SEAGOON: (whispers) Blast it's Grytpype-Thynne. Leave this to me, I'm a brilliant impressionist. (chicken clucking).
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: A horse? There's no horses in this fort.
SEAGOON: (whispers) (dog howling).
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: There's no chickens either.
ECCLES: (whispers) This one's a smart one. Let me try, I'm good at dis.
SERIES: OF MAD NOISES... PAUSE.
ECCLES: (whispers) Dat fooled him.
SEAGOON: Are you sure?
ECCLES: Dat fooled you, didn't it?
F.X.: PISTOL SHOT... SCREAMS
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: So it's Lord Seagoon and Company.
SEAGOON: Where's that gold-plate, mother's wating to serve dinner to some guests, we've been waiting for fifteen years for dinner, and the rumbling sounds are dreadful.
GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: I've had them all melted down into gold bullets and they're in this gun.
SEAGOON: : Oh. Hooray, I'm going to die rich... Ohhh. ORCHESTRA TA RAAAAA CHORD
HARRY: : Well, that's it folks, as you all go to the cloaks, you'll be handed back your glass-eyes, false-teeth and wooden-legs, and wouldn't you in two lads...
ORCHESTRA: 'OLD COMRADES MARCH' PLAYOUT