The Goon Show
Transcribed by Christopher Thomas (C.P.Thomas@cs.bham.ac.uk)
Greenslade: This is the BBC.
Seagoon: So! You admit it, then? Six months hard labour, to bedone in twelve monthly installments.
Greenslade: I shall appeal.
Seagoon: Very well... Released on bail of five long twistedthings, with holes in the end. Next case.
Sellers: A mental picture of the Goon Show, sir.
Seagoon: What? Sentenced to half an hour a week on the electric wireless. To commence this week, with, Wings over Dagenham.
Fx: dramatic horns
Milligan: In that sirring music, folks, it was specially composed to give you a mental picture, of an aeroplane carrying supplies,for the beseiged garrison at Fort Spon, in ninteen hundered and two, one year before the invention of the aeroplane, ohhhh...
Sellers: Yes, we of the beseiged garrison were grateful for that mental picture of an aeroplane bringing us supplies. It must raid[?] for the day, when someone would invent one, and save us all at Fort Spon.
Fx: more gunshots
Milligan: Little did he know, poor fellow, that in a shed off Lyle Street, a genius, in grease stained evening dress, assisted by a dour Scots gentleman in a...
Fx: clink clunk hammering noises
Milligan: [over] ... grease stained body, were at work on a strange and wonderous, grease stained machine...
McChisle: [in time with hammering] Yin ton, yin ton, yin ton, yin ton, yin ton-a-yiddle-i-pohhhh. Yin ton, yin ton, yin ton, yin ton, yin ton-a-yiddle-i-pohhhh. Yin ton, yin ton, yin ton, yin ton, yin ton-a-yiddle-i-pohhhh. Yin ton yi...
Seagoon: McChisle! It's finished!
McChisle: Ohhh! Thank heavens for that, I couldn't remember any more of the words!
Seagoon: [garbled, garbled] Fred Chislehurst...Now, my masterpiece! This apparatus...
McChisle: Ohhh! If it's no a rude question, sir, what's it supposed to be?
Seagoon: I wish I knew... I'd feel much happier.
McChisle: Yuh-you said it was to be a mangle.
Seagoon: Yes I know, but I added a bit here and a bit there, it got completely out of hand.
McChisle: I-I'll tell you what, man, you sit in the seat, and I'll swing the propeller.
Seagoon: [camp] Mad, impulsive boy. Ohhohoh! But, as you wish...
McChisle: [shouting] CONTACT!
Seagoon: Gad, you've invented the method for starting an aeroplane! CONTACT!
Fx: plane engine starting, a few misfires, backfires, it stalls, followed by lots of bits falling off
Seagoon: Well, what shall we build now?
McChisle: M-mister Seagoon! Did you no notice? A moment before it fell to bits, it rose seven feet off the ground.
Seagoon: Correction, five feet. Two of those feet were mine!
McChisle: If, if you ask me sir, we've invented the hairyplane.
Fx: phone rings, reciever being picked up
Grytpype: [speaking over telephone] I hear you've invented the aeroplane?
Seagoon: Who's this speaking?
Grytpype: The air ministry.
Seagoon: Air ministry? How are you off for air? Ahahahaha! [chuckling] Air ministry! How are you off for air?! Ahahahaha! Ahahaha! Aha. Ahem.
Grytpype: Listen little square pudding, the question is, how are -you- off for air?
Seagoon: I'm just full of it.
Grytpype: So I've heard!
Seagoon: What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? [degenerates into a clucking chicken]
Grytpype: It's all very well saying that Neddy, but if you've in-, if you've invented the aeroplane, you'll need air to fly it in, and we are the sole agents.
Seagoon: You low down, theiving, twisting, stinking, spiv!
Grytpype: I see you're a wit as well! Well, flattery will get you nowhere. You get your machine finished, and we'll come round and see you.
Fx: reciever being replaced, hammering noises, hammer being dropped
Fx: door being opened
Grytpype: And only just in time! Moreiaty, there it is!
Moriarty: Ohhh! It looks like an aeroplane.
Grytpype: It smells like one..
Moriarty: And further more, tup tup tup tup tup tup tup tup tup[tasting noises] It tastes like an aeroplane! [garbled]
Grytpype: Let me try a slice. [speaking with mouth full] Hummm,
Neddy! This aeroplane is beautifully cooked.
Seagoon: Yes, we've made it in the oven all night!
Grytpype: Splendid! Now Neddy, what does this aeroplane do?
Seagoon: It flys.
Grytpype: It flys?
Moriarty: You realise, that this means the end, of the horse drawn zepplin!
Grytpype: Tempers fugit, Moriarty.
Moriarty: What? To that I can only say, kee dubbie... Whasit say? Ahalib in fairy dun shetty galare!
Seagoon: No fighting please, you intellectual gentlemen.
Grytpype: Just sign this document, Neddy.
Fx: paper noise
Seagoon: ..of use of the air over Lyle Street...
Moriarty: [separate conversation, over Seagoon, and barely audible] Contacts away.
Grytpype: [as above] Yes, we've got them now Moriarty.
Seagoon: ...ten pound seventeen shillings a quarter, payable in monthly installments of fifty pound a year, per week. Hmmm. That seems remarkably cheap.
Fx: till opening
Grytpype: Thank you, Neddy. Now, don't forget, when you want to fly, just phone us up and we'll have the air fixed in place over Lyle Street immeadiatly.
Seagoon: Well, I'd like some air right now...
Grytpype: Max Geldray, start blowing blugee[?]
Moriarty: Let's get some brandy in boys, hahaha!!
Seagoon: [over Max] Blugee blugee! Blugeeeee!
Milligan: [off] That's so much more than we got...
Greenslade: That music was designed to give listeners in the Lake District, a mental picture of Max Geldray playing a nude mouth organ.
Little Jim: He's fell in the wa-ta!
Greenslade: And now, and now, here is a piece of music to give you a mental picture of the air ministry.
Moriarty: Ohhh, folks! That music, supposed to give you a mental picture, which means the end of the horse drawn zepplin. Ohhhhh, why did I em-na-a-me-a yin ton iddle I pohh... another word that I can't think of a yampayamayabam.
Grytpype: Quiet Moriarty! I'm just getting a mental picture of Seagoon opening that door.
Fx: door opening
Seagoon: Gentlemen, I'm in terrible trouble...
Grytpype: He's going to say.
Fx: door closing, door opening
Seagoon: Gentlemen, I'm in terrible trouble...
Moriarty: You were right!
Seagoon: My aeroplane won't take off in Lyle Street. Just as the plane starts to gain speed, the lights turn red!
Moriarty: Ohhhh! Neddy, what you need is a new modern-type taking off aerodrome.
Grytpype: Yes, tell the orchestra to give us a mental picture of a meeting of aerodrome inventors.
Moriarty: Here it comes...
Fx: comic fanfare
Milligan: [over fanare, and off] Ahh, Ohh, Eee!
Voices: [over] Flying rhubarb. Flying rhubarb. Rhubarb. Flying rhubarb, aerodrome, rhubarb. Flying. Aerodrome. Rhubarb. Flying custard and rhubarb. Flying rhustard coobar hopba. It's painfullest too... [and various mutterings]
Moriarty: Gentlemen! Gentlemen, Mister Gridpype Thynne, has called this mental picture of a meeting, at the request of the beleagured garrison, at:
Secombe: [barely audible] Fort Rhubarb.
Moriarty: #Fort Spon#
Grytpype: Yes, gentlemen. I have just returned from the very thin of the fray. Fort Spon will fall any day now.
Milligan: But we've just had it wallpapered!
Grytpype: That's no use, I tell you.
Milligan: Double strength!
Grytpype: The defenders are weaponless. Some swine, sold the men's rifles to the enemy for ten thousand pounds.
Seagoon: How much?
Grytpype: Just a minute, I'll count it again...er..
Moriarty: You mean...
Grytpype: Yes, ten thousand pounds.
Moriarty: You mean, that those men have only got bullets to defend themselves?
Seagoon: Gentlemen, build me a taking-off type aerodrome, and I will fly out rifles in my newly invented aeroplane.
Crun: Mr Seagoon, nnn-I have got here, the plans of my proposed portable aerodrome.
Seagoon: Ahh! Let's have a look.
Fx: paper noises
Seagoon: Mmmm. What do you call it Mister Crun?
Crun: Erm. Croydon Airport.
Seagoon: Oh. And, where are you going to build it?
Crun: At Croydon?
Seagoon: I say! How splendid. That'll save changing the name!
Crun: Yes. Now then is there any questions?
Minnie: Um, ah, how are you going to build this aerodrome?
Crun: Er, I was going to build it, flat.
Seagoon: Does that mean aeroplanes can land on it?
Crun: Well now that you've asked me a straightforward question, I have no option, na-er, but to give you a direct answer. What was the question again?
Seagoon: Does that mean aeroplanes can land on it?
Crun: Land on what?
Seagoon: The aerodrome!
Crun: Ohh! Am I building one of those?
Seagoon: Yes, and you, you're calling it, Croydon Airport.
Crun: Splendid! Then I can build it near Croydon.
Seagoon: The very place for it!
Crun: Yes. Now to finance, apart from the aerodrome, we shall need five thousand pounds for the hangars.
Seagoon: I'd rather hand my coat on a nail.
Grytpype: Mister Crun, was referring to aeroplane hangars.
Seagoon: Erm, will my aeroplane need a hangar?
Crun: It would lose it's shape hanging on a nail, you know. But they have a great, built-in, in the great...
Minnie: Ease off, Buddy!
Minnie: Ohhhhh! yapartaneetcapnepatagarpotogol...
Seagoon: Well, Mister Crun sounds like our idiot. What salary would you like?
Crun: Ten thousand pounds a year?
Seagoon: Who'll second that?
Crun: I will.
Seagoon: Right, those in favour, raise their hands. Aha. Come, Mister Crun, you can't vote for youself.
Crun: I'm not!
Seagoon: Then why are you holding your hand up when you...
Fx: door opening/closing
Seagoon: I see.
Grytpype: He's gone, of course, to give the workmen a mental picture of what he has in mind.
Greenslade: And, if listeners in Croyden, in ninteen hundered and two, will open their windows, they'll be able to hear a mental picture of the portable aerodrome, under construction.
Fx: construction site type noises
Dai: Pardon me, boy, er, where do you want this load of five hundered ton iron girders?
Bloodnok: Well, I think you'd better put them in the safe, you see, there's been a lot of pilfering lately.
Secombe: Right oh. Dai, see me back will you?
Welsh Eccles: [off] O. K. Dai! Come on, now. [garbled] Dai! [garbled]. Abbergavenny. [garbled]. Leek. [garbled]. [garbled] Sea Docks. It's no good, folks. I can't keep up this accent any longer. I'm not a Welshman at all, I'm the famous Eccles.
Dai: You'll get my fist round the back of your famous filthy neck if you don't hurry up.
Eccles: O.K. Get this lorry back. Come on, back now.
Fx: lorry pulling away
Eccles: [over] Come on. Back. Come on. Steady! Left hand down. Ooh! As you are. Straight on! Straighten up. Come on. Come on! Right hand. Left hand. Middle. Come on. Come on, now! Plenty of room. Come on. Come on.
Fx: crashing sounds
Eccles: O.K. That's enough.
Seagoon: [slowly being sped up] You dull, stupid, half witted, useless, jumped up, never come down, idle, [garbled]! If I get my hands on you, I'll beat all the sawdust...[garbled rantings]
Eccles: [over] What? Who? Wait a..? What? You [garbled]. What? Ohh, ahh! No. What? No, look... listen... You... Stop. Don't you... [Seagoon stops] SHUT UP! Ahhh. Let that be a lesson to him. Let that be a lesson to him.
Seagoon: Never mind talking that racket at me, Eccles. [?] Great news!
Seagoon: Oooh ooaawoo! The lights turned green in Lyle Street, and my test pilot finally got the plane off the ground.
Eccles: What a strain!
Crun: Oh, you got to stop him from landing, the aerodrome's not quite ready yet. We haven't started.
Seagoon: Right. McChisle! Contact the plane.
McChisle: He's on the phone now, sir.
Sellers: [off] Well said!
Seagoon: Calling! Calling B four. Calling B four. Hello? Control calling B four.
Bluebottle: [over phone] Hello, captain!
Seagoon: Is that you, B four?
Seagoon: Why didn't you answer me, B four?
Bluebottle: 'Cause I didn't hear you before.
Seagoon: Listen! Warning! Do not land at Croydon Airport because it's not there yet.
Bluebottle: Right oh then!
Seagoon: Now, what is your exact position?
Bluebottle: I'm lying on my side, with my knees drawn up, under my chin.
Seagoon: Why? Bluebottle: I'm at home, in bed.
Seagoon: You fool, McChisle. You've got the wrong number!
Sellers: [over radio] Hello, hello. Calling the proposed Croydon Airport.
Seagoon: That's my pilot now. That's my boy. Hello there! Don't land!
Sellers: I can't land.
Seagoon: Why not?
Sellers: I haven't got enough petrol.
Sellers: I tell you, you must get liquid petrol up to me, or I'll never play the violin again!
Seagoon: Why not?
Sellers: It's a petrol driven violin, you hear.
Seagoon: Horrors, hirrors, hurruhs, horrors, hurrens. The world's first horseless aeroplane, trapped in the air!
Fx: comic fanfare
Seagoon: Ahem. That music was intended to give you a mental picture of the change in plan.
Seagoon: Thankyou. With the shortage, with the shortage of petrol, the invention of the aeroplane had to be delayed.
Seagoon: Thankyou. But still, that burning question was, to get guns to the garrison at Fort Spon.
Crun: As luck would have it gentlemen, I've got here the plans of a steam driven rocket.
Seagoon: That would overcome the petrol shortage. We'll build one, right away!
Moriarty: I suppose this means the end of the horse drawn zepplin.
Grytpype: Oh well, Moriarty, ets equitor ad nausium, spon.
Moriarty: Ow! You got to go...
Moriarty and Grytpype: Oooww!
Ellington: Oh Moriarty, now stop plugging your record, and remain silent, while I plug one of mine. Do you mind?
Minnie: [over Ray] Play it buddy!
Greenslade: Ladies and gentlemen. That sound was specially recorded, to give you a mental picture, of the records they're playing, at the beseiged garrison, of Fort Spon.
Seagoon: Never mind folks. If you were in this BBC studio, you'd see, apart from the tatty curtains, bare floorboards, and outdated guilt scrollwork, specially commissioned by the corporation. A large steam driven rocket...
Milligan: [off] Oohho!
Seagoon: Ahoi-hoi-hoi-ohho! Now gather round, early British aviators!
Seagoon: [over] Early British rhubarb. Early British rhubarb. Rhubarb, rhubarb. Rhubarb rhubarb! R-r-rhubarb! And, custard.
Sellers: Pardon me, I'm from the er, Geographical Society.
Secombe: [off, barely audible] I'm from the rhubarb!
Sellers: May I come along to your flight, so that I can, photograph the earth from a great height?
Seagoon: What ever for?
Sellers: Because, sir, there are some stupid fools, who are still arguing whether the earth is round or flat.
Seagoon: And so?
Sellers: I'm going to prove to them, that it -is- flat.
Seagoon: Prove the earth is flat? Hahaha! What a waste of time!
Sellers: Why why, why?
Seagoon: Everybody knows it's flat!
Sellers: Aha ha ha ha har.
Seagoon: Aha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haa!
Sellers: Aha ha ha har!
Seagoon: Aha ha ha!
Sellers: But, there are idiots in this world, you know.
Seagoon: Have you met them?
Sellers: Met them? I listen to you every week!
Milligan: Folks! That chord was to give you a mental picture, of a steam driven rocket, about to take off for the [garbled].
Fx: clink clink clink clunk clunk clink [hammering]
Eccles: [over] #Well the, the, some brocolli land on my dream! I travel the road in brocolli. I travel....#
Seagoon: Here Eccles!
Eccles: What what?
Seagoon: Let me help you with that flange.
Fx: fast hammering
Seagoon: There! That's got it off!
Eccles: I was trying to get it on! I tried to get it on!
Crun: Gentlemen I've been driven here from Ryegate to say this line... Um-gad! Erm, erm er-the rocket is, ready. Horayoo-oow!
Moriarty: He's going the direction of down! Now out[?], about this rocket gentlemen, now, who knows how to drive it?
Seagoon: Drive it? Good heavens! You're not going to let a little thing like that stop us?
Bloodnok: Of course not! We can decide who's to drive when we're up there.
Seagoon: Yes. We'll draw lots.
Eccles: I can't draw lots! I don't even know what shape they are!
Seagoon: Shut up Eccles!
Eccles: Shut up Eccles!
Seagoon: Shut up...
Voices: Shut up Eccles!
Seagoon: Shut up Eccles!
Moriarty: Ahh gentlemen, one thing. One thing gentlemen, may I take an Arab stallion, on board, with us?
Bloodnok: You filthy swine!
Bloodnok: What ever for?
Moriarty: What ever for? To prove that the horse, still has it's place in air travel! Especially if it pulls a zepplin!
Bloodnok: Yes, and I'm taking an elephant!
Seagoon: Are you mad?
Moriarty: [over] Are you mad?
Bloodnok: Of course I am! You don't get normal people taking elephants on rockets do you?
Seagoon: Well, he'll have to travel third class.
Bloodnok: If you wish.
Seagoon: Who's going to be at the controls when we take off?
Eccles: Um, well, which way are we going?
Eccles: Oh, I'll drive, I know that way.
Seagoon: Stout fella!
Eccles: Me a stout fella? You'd make two of me!
Seagoon: I'll make two of you! Give me that axe!
Eccles: What? Get away!
Fx: phone ringing, receiver being picked up
Seagoon: Yes? Right.
Fx: receiver being replaced
Seagoon: The garrison at Fort Spon are desperate!
Eccles: Oh hohoho!
Seagoon: Ah hahahahaha!
Seagoon: We must take off at once! Rifles on board?
Seagoon: Right. Close plinge doors.
Eccles: Plinge doors closed.
Bloodnok: [over] Close plinge doors!
Seagoon: [garbled]! Secure ports.
Eccles: [over] Secure ports.
Seagoon: Close all berks!
Milligan: Close all berks.
Seagoon: Bluebottle, tighten your belt.
Bluebottle: Why captain?
Seagoon: Your trousers are falling down. Full steam! Maximum power!
Milligan: Maxum power.
Milligan: [garbled as above]
Seagoon: Cut the string!
Fx: recording of a train whistle, followed by a train leaving a station, slowly being sped up
Seagoon: Men! Put on your pressurised shin pads, and switch on oxygen. I'm going to accelerate to thirty miles an hour!
Bloodnok: Don't be a fool Seagoon. No man can live at that speed.
Seagoon: Hang on!
Fx: train leaving station, slowly being sped up [as before]
Moriarty: Oh steady! Steady you demon of the speed! Beware! Observe: the wallpaper's already coming away from Bluebottle's
Sellers: Er, could you slow down just a bit here, I want to take that photograph of the earth.
Eccles: Oh here. I just saw the earth through the clouds.
Sellers: Did it look round?
Eccles: Yeah, but I don't think it saw me...
Seagoon: You're right Eccles, and look, there's the besiged Fort Spon, directly beneath us. Quick! Parachute the rifles down to them.
Bloodnok: Rifles away!
Seagoon: They've got them!
Moriarty: They're loading them!
Bloodnok: They've fired!
Seagoon: The enemy are all dead! Sucess!
Moriarty: Curse! This is the end of the horse drawn zepplin!
Greenslade: And it's also the end of the horse drawn Goon Show. Goodnight!
Fx: closing music
Milligan: [over] [garbled]
Greenslade: That was the Goon Show, a BBC recorded program featuring Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe, and Spike Milligan. With George Chisholm, Ray Ellington Quartet, Max Geldray, and the orchestra conducted by Wally Stott. Script by Spike Milligan and Larry Stevens. Announcer Wallace Greenslade. The program produced by Pat Dixon.