Admiral Seagoon

Harry Secombe

Captain Thing

Harry Secombe

Bluebottle

Peter Sellers

Churchill

Peter Sellers

Dimbleby

Peter Sellers

Grytpype-Thynne

Peter Sellers

Major Dennis Bloodnok

Peter Sellers

Minister of Military-type Foods

Peter Sellers

Batman

Spike Milligan

Captain Berk

Spike Milligan

Eccles

Spike Milligan

Moriarty

Spike Milligan

Seaman

Spike Milligan

Sparks

Spike Milligan

Statisticker

Spike Milligan

GREENSLADE:

{This is the General Overseas Service of the BBC.} This program is specially dedicated to Her Majesty's Forces Overseas and to the Trans-Antarctic Expedition, the Falkland Islands Dependency Survey Teams {and} the Royal Society Expedition at Halley Bay [and Mrs Rita Body]. Greetings from the Goons.

ECCLES:

Hello.

ORCHESTRA:

ROYAL FANFARE.

SELLERS:

This is a story of a great endeavour.

[ECCLES:

Is it?]

SELLERS:

A story of land, sea and air. And in some cases, both. The date: the 23rd November 1956. Christmas was coming. The geese were getting fat. [Someone spent a penny in an old man's hat.] But one problem lay heavily on Parliament's conscience.

FX:

(FADE IN) CROWD TALKING.

MINISTER:

(Sellers) Gentlemen!

{MP 1:

(Milligan) What's happened to the colonies?}

{MP 2:

(Sellers) What are colonies?}

{MP 1?:

(Milligan?) Ahm, I do not ...}

{MP 3:

(Sellers?) Think of something}.

{MP 2:

(Milligan) Piece of land, surrounded by dollars.}

{MP 1:

Aah!}

MINISTER:

As Minister of Military-type Foods, I must state that the picture regarding Christmas puddings for the forces overseas looks pretty black.

MP:

{Then} Why don't we send them black puddings?

ORCHESTRA:

CORNY CHORD.

{MP:

Hoi!}

SELLERS:

Thank you, Sir Hartley Shawcross KC. And now, a few statistics from our resident statisticker.

ORCHESTRA:

LIVELY INTRODUCTORY-TYPE MUSIC.

STATISTICKER:

I say, I say, I say, I say,

{SECOMBE?:

~~~ I don't wish to know that.}

STATISTICKER:

I say, gentlemen, owing to the shortage of civilian [compressors] {contractors}, they cannot supply sufficient Xmas-type duff for our forces overseas.

{CROWD:

Crowd rumbling.}

{MILLIGAN:

Oh, a Calamity, a terrible calamity}

OLD MAN:

What about the Naafi?

FIRST VOICE:

(Sellers) Naafi, what is Naafi?

SECOND VOICE:

(Secombe? Scottish) An organisation, working for the downfall of the British Army.

{FIRST VOICE:

Have they succeeded?}

{SECOND VOICE:

Several times.}

STATISTICKER:

Gentlemen, gentlemen, I have a solution. I just took it off a bicycle tyre. Now, listen to me, please. Why don't the services all combine in the building of a giant Christmas pudding? {For the ~~~~}

FX:

CROWD - APPLAUSE, "WELL DONE, WELL DONE." CHEERS, FADE IN SINGING OF "LAND OF HOPE AND GLORY", SPED UP.

SELLERS:

The motion was adopted and passed. But meanwhile, at the Admiralty...

FX:

DOOR OPENS. BOSUN'S WHISTLE.

SPARKS:

Ah, pardon me, sir RN.

SEAGOON:

What is it {, Sparks?}

SPARKS:

I'm sorry to interrupt you at squash, sir.

SEAGOON:

It's all right, I'll drink it later.

SPARKS:

{Right...Ah,} this Morse signal's just arrived from Magadan Trans-Antarctic {Ehhhhhhh-}Expedition, sir.

SEAGOON:

{Really,} what's it say?

SPARKS:

I don't know. It's all little dots and dashes, I....

SEAGOON:

{I see.} Play it on the gramophone.

SPARKS:

Right.

FX:

BEEPS IN MORSE.

[SPARKS:

Is it code?]

SEAGOON:

{What a lovely tune. What's it called?} [Yes - stoke up the fire. (Morse beeping continues) Of course! It's in Morse - I speak it fluently.]

{SPARKS} [SEAGOON]:

It['s] {says}: "We-want-a-Christmas-Pudding-for-Christmas-by-the-boys-of-the-Trans-Antarctic-Exarrrh-pedition-with-Taffy-Williams-at-the-mighty-Morse-keys.

{SEAGOON:

Three words a minute, that's his lot. Gad!}

SEAGOON:

Gad...

{SPARKS:

Good luck, sir.}

SEAGOON:

[It means] {You mean} those lads out there in all that sand and snow are [pudding-less!] {to be denied a Christmas pudding?}

SPARKS:

I fear so, sir.

SEAGOON:

It's not British, I tell you, it's not British.

SPARKS:

{Very few} [most] Christmas puddings are {these days, sir. They're} made in Japan [pluddings].

SEAGOON:

{Wait ,} wait! I have it {, Robin}.

SPARKS:

{Have you, sir?} [Yes I can see you've got it sir]

SEAGOON:

{I have indeed, Robin.} We will have to ask the service chefs to increase the size of the giant [Service] Christmas pudding to allow for an extra slice for the Antarctic base.

SPARKS:

{Magnificent, sir. You know,} [Yes, sir. E'en now] they're mixing it at Chatham {at this very moment, sir}. I'll drive you there.

{SPARKS:

Giddup, sir, giddup!}

{SEAGOON:

(Neighing)}

FX:

TWO MEN RUNNING AWAY.

GRAMS:

"CLAIRE DE LUNE".

GREENSLADE:

We included that brief excerpt from "Clair de lune" for people who speak French. {And} now, over to Richard Dimbleby.

FX:

INDUSTRIAL SOUNDS. BUBBLING, CHUGGING MOTOR NOISE.[VERY COMPLICATED, SPURTS, PLOPS ETC] UNDER:

DIMBLEBY:

The sound you are now hearing is the {great} combined Services Christmas pudding in the making. I'm standing by the great dry dock at Chatham in which the Christmas pudding is being mixed. Standing next to me [,two feet lower down] is Admiral Seagoon {, RN}.

[FX:

BOSUN'S WHISTLE.]

SEAGOON:

{Well, we've had a good day today.} [Ah, that's better! Well, we've had a good day for pudding.]

{DIMBLEBY:

Grand sir.}

SEAGOON:

Number three flotilla motor torpedo boats have been going backwards and forwards churning up the mixture. The cruiser Ajax has been following in their wake, dropping depth charges to bring the raisins to the surface.

DIMBLEBY:

{How perfectly splendid, to see the.} the finest traditions of the silent service being maintained.

[FX:

BOSUN'S WHISTLE]

SEAGOON:

[Ah, that's better!] Yes, yes, we try to keep the men happy when they're off duty by giving them little tasks like this.

DIMBLEBY:

We could do with more of that spirit {, sir.}

SEAMAN:

(uncouth) You could do with a big clout up the back of your big fat steaming nut[s] {, there.}

SEAGOON:

[Our nuts are not steaming - arrest that stoker] {Put that admiral under arrest}.

{SEAMAN:

I'll write my MP. It's not right.}

DIMBLEBY:

How do you test the density of this great {patriotic} [Service] pudding {mixture}?

SEAGOON:

We've sent a diver down {. He went down} half an hour ago. {We're getting rather worried} [It was silly really].

DIMBLEBY:

Why?

SEAGOON:

He hasn't got a diving suit on [ha ha - he he!].

DIMBLEBY:

{Ha, ha, what a splendid joke that was to play on him.} [(very earnest) The best tradition of the Navy cake!]

FX:

PROPELLER AEROPLANE NOISE.

DIMBLEBY:

And now the great dockyard is being cleared, as the fairy gannets of 824 Squadron swoop low over the pudding. Their bomb bays are open, and yes, down comes the candied peel, stone ginger and sultanas.

FX:

LOW WHISTLE OF BOMBS FALLING AND LANDING WITH SPLOGGG NOISES IN PUDDING MIXTURE.

DIMBLEBY:

A direct hit on the great Christmas pudding mixture. {This is indeed} a grand day for the {Empire} [Royal Air Force and Miss Muriel Body].

SEAMAN:

{Eh,} pardon me, sir, eh, oil tankers standing by for to take on the pudding[!] {, sir.}

SEAGOON:

Right!

{SEAMAN:

Right-o.}

SEAGOON:

{Tell them to} drop the suction pumps into the mixture and suck it!

SEAMAN:

(off) [Aye, aye] {Right-o}, sir.

FX:

PUMPING. CHUG CHUG OF PUMPS, SLOPPING NOISES.

DIMBLEBY:

And so the great pudding mixture is siphoned out of the dry dock and into the great all-British oil tanker Aristotle Onassis [which is registered as a bakery in Rangoon].

SEAGOON:

Yes, [it'll be transported overland] {she'll transport it} to an empty gasometer near Salisbury Plain. From then on the pudding is under Army command. Unfortunately.

DIMBLEBY:

Thank, you, Admiral Seagoon. {And before we go, what is the great record of your choice?} [Now over to Max Geldray for some run and baccy]

{SEAGOON:

I should say, Max Geldray.}

{SELLERS:

I'm off then.}

INTERVAL:

ORCHESTRA and MAX GELDRAY

(applause)

GREENSLADE:

Operation Christmas Duff, part two.

{VOICE:

Burps.}

FX:

BUGLE CALL, SPEEDING UP AND DOWN.

BLOODNOK:

Oh, {oh, ooweeoweeowee, (and lip smacking noises)} [it's er - what is it? Of course, it's] reveille! And first thing in the morning, too! {Oh,} what a shock. Quickly, [batman - brandy -] {get me some} brandy.

BATMAN:

Have you got a weak heart {sir}?

BLOODNOK:

No, a weak will. {Oh, Captain Thing, what's the latest sit. rep.?}

[BATMAN:

Oh! So have I, sir (drinking)]

[BLOODNOK:

Put that bottle down!]

[BATMAN:

I'm trying to, sir.]

[BLOODNOK:

Give me that (drinking).]

[FX:

TAP DRIPPING]

[BATMAN:

You're leaking, sir.]

CAPTAIN THING:

[Major!] Oh-six-hundred hours, sir.

{BLOODNOK:

Yes, yes.}

CAPTAIN THING:

{Tank} transporter arrived with converted gasometer [with] {containing} six hundred tons of Christmas pudding, ready for cooking [, sir!].

BLOODNOK:

[Oh, Captain Thing!] What's it's map reference?

CAPTAIN THING:

Seven-nine-eight-one [- Salisbury Plain, sir!].

{BLOODNOK:

Salisbury Plain?}

{CAPTAIN THING:

Yes, sir}

BLOODNOK:

Where's that?

CAPTAIN THING:

You're standing on it, sir!

BLOODNOK:

{Oh,} I'm {dreadfully} sorry. I hope I haven't dirtied it.

CAPTAIN THING:

It's all right, sir. We have it blanco'd every other day.

{BLOODNOK:

Yes.}

FX:

KNOCKING ON DOOR.

[CAPTAIN THING:

Knocks on door, sir!]

BLOODNOK:

Come in! Two, three!

FX:

DOOR OPENS. BOSUN'S WHISTLE.

BLOODNOK:

Oh, it's a [an Admiral] {naval snotty, RN!} What are you doing, so far [on military land] {inland}?

SEAGOON:

I ran aground, sir. I was sent along{side} to report on the cooking.

BLOODNOK:

{Well, you'd, you'd, you'd better} follow me.

{SEAGOON:

Oh.}

[FX:

FOOTSTEPS IN CORRIDOR.]

BLOODNOK:

The Derbyshire Yeomanry have laid on fourteen flame-throwing tanks.

{SEAGOON:

I see.}

FX:

BUGLE: "COME TO THE COOKHOUSE DOOR".[MAD STAMPEDE OF SOLDIERS]

SEAGOON:

I say, what call is that?

BLOODNOK:

{The} cook-house, Number one on our hit parade, you know. Has been for three hundred years {now}.

{SEAGOON:

Yes, yes.}

BLOODNOK:

{Now here we are. Now} if you'll just come into this observation post you'll be able to watch to whole of the Christmas pudding being cooked. Now, let's go over to [the radar screen] {this clearing here (??)}.

{SEAGOON:

Right, yes,yes.}

FX:

HISS OF FLAME-THROWERS.

GREENSLADE:

Hello, listeners. The sound you're hearing are the tanks which are bringing their flame-throwers to bear, as they cook the giant Christmas pudding in its gasometer. {And now a word from our military observer.}

CAPTAIN BERK:

{Well,} at down this morning, number forty-five commando went in under cover of daylight, and brought back samples for testing by the Army Catering Corps.

GREENSLADE:

What was it like?

CAPTAIN BERK:

Pretty good.

BLOODNOK:

[Ah,] {I say,} Captain Berk.

CAPTAIN BERK:

{Sir,} two, three, four [Sah!].

BLOODNOK:

{Eh,} field intelligence reports that the pudding is done.

CAPTAIN BERK:

{Splendid, sir,} absolutely, first class! {Yes,} I should wait till things have cooled down a bit, then send in the Sappers [to] {who} blast open the gasometer with Bangalore torpedoes {, leaving the pudding completely at our mercy}.

{BLOODNOK:

Splendid, have a Roger and out.}

{CAPTAIN BERK:

Thank you.}

GREENSLADE:

Excuse me Major, {ahh,} I'm from the BBC.

BLOODNOK:

I'm sorry, I don't have any money on me. {Ask John Snagge, he's got a fortune in his mattress, you know.}

FX:

EXPLOSIONS.[DISTANT ATOM BOMB]

BLOODNOK:

Ooohh! There she goes {, there she goes}. You see that? Split the gasometer completely in two. Well done, S{l}appers!

GREENSLADE:

Indeed {yes}, listeners, right in two. Revealing a great big steaming [Services] Christmas pudding.

FX:

FIRING OF HEAVY GUNS UNDER:

GREENSLADE:

And there you hear the 74th Medium Regiment R.A., firing over open sights smack into the pudding itself. Tell me Major, what are they firing?

BLOODNOK:

Thrippenny bits.

CAPTAIN BERK:

Excuse me, sir, the infantry {have gone in. Their} CO is on the walkie-talkie.

BLOODNOK:

Oh, hello, Sunray here.

MASTERS:

[Seagull] {Masters} speaking.

{BLOODNOK:

Yes.}

MASTERS:

{Here's the} sit. rep., sir.

{BLOODNOK:

Yes.}

MASTERS:

B Company 2nd Force {Hamps} have reached the summit of the Christmas pudding.

BLOODNOK:

{All} right. Consolidate. Roger and out.

{MASTERS:

(off) Roger and out sir.}

BLOODNOK:

Gentlemen, the Army's task in this matter is completed. It is now under RAF command. Unfortunately.

GRAMS:

"DAM BUSTERS MARCH"

SECOMBE:

That night, an excited House was given the news.

FX:

CROWD NOISES - HEAVY MUTTERINGS. [OCCASIONAL CHICKEN]

CHURCHILL:

(echoy) Honourable members. I have this moment received good news. At 1700 hours British troops have gained the summit of the combined Services Christmas pudding and there planted the British holly.

OMNES:

Applause and cheers.

CHURCHILL:

One hour later, [the Canberras] {Sopwith Camels} of Bomber Command, dropped delayed [custard] {brandy} bombs, [followed by brandy torpedoes - then napalm to set it alight] {then to set the pudding on fire}. {The magnificent Christmas duff is now ready for transporting}

OMNES:

Cheers, all sing "Land of Hope and Glory" with orchestra backing.

GREENSLADE:

Late that night, Service chiefs were given their instructions at the War Office.

FX:

BAR ROOM NOISES, HONKY TONK PIANO. [DRUNKEN SINGING - 'O DANNY BOY' ETC]

SEAGOON:

Gentlemen, please, please. If the Chief of the Imperial General Staff will lay off the [piano]{joanna}, thank you.

{THROAT:

Cor blimy, I've always played it before. (?)}

SEAGOON:

I have here sealed orders containing four tickets for the Windmill, and this message...

{VOICE:

oy oy ~~~, there)}

SEAGOON:

"The pudding will be...

{VOICE:

What about the old General Staff, there?}

{SEAGOON:

I don't wish to know that.}

{VOICE:

What about the old fashioned ~~~ ~~~}

{SEAGOON:

I say look here}

{VOICE 2:

What about the flying duck there?}

SEAGOON:

{What about it? What about the turkey in the shop? Ere now then} "The pudding will be divided as follows. One slice to be cut and filled with anti-freeze for immediate transport to the Trans-Antarctic expedition. The remainder of the giant Christmas pudding will be fitted with wheels, a diesel engine, and driven to the Middle East depots for distribution. Signed, Field Marshall Montgoonery."

{FX:

CROWD NOISES.}

ORCHESTRA:

MUSICAL LINK.[EASTERN MUSIC]

FX:

VEHICLE DRIVING IN SAND STORM, GREAT CLASHING OF GEARS.

BLUEBOTTLE:

Have you ever driven a Christmas pudding before {, Eccles}?

ECCLES:

No, I've never driven anything before.

BLUEBOTTLE:

Then how did you get the job?

ECCLES:

{Well,} the sergeant said, one pace forward {my good man,} anyone who can play the piano.

BLUEBOTTLE:

Oh, can you play the piano then?

ECCLES:

No.

BLUEBOTTLE:

Then why are you driving this Christmas pudding?

ECCLES:

I want to learn to play the piano.

BLUEBOTTLE:

Then it's true what the recruiting posters say.

ECCLES:

{What,} what do [they] {the recruiting posters} say?

BLUEBOTTLE:

{They say:} "You're SOMEBODY in the modern army of today".

ECCLES:

Oohh, and what are you?

BLUEBOTTLE:

I'm somebody in the modern army of today.

ECCLES:

Oh, I wondered who you were.

{BLUEBOTTLE:

Hello Kitty, hello Kay}

{MILLIGAN:

Hello Jim.}

ECCLES:

{Um, um, how did you,} how did you join?

{BLUEBOTTLE:

Well.}

{ECCLES:

Well.}

BLUEBOTTLE:

I was in the street..

{ECCLES:

Yah.}

BLUEBOTTLE:

...writing something on the wall.

{ECCLES:

Oohh!}

BLUEBOTTLE:

{Quiet! (??)} I was only writing my name.

ECCLES:

{Ohh} Wouldn't they know who done it then?

BLUEBOTTLE:

No, I didn't sign it.

{ECCLES:

Oh, you got brains Bottle. Go on then.}

BLUEBOTTLE:

Then up comes a naughty hairy man wearing a soldier set, and he said "Little Finchley lad, you don't want to write your name in silly chalk. You want to write your name in ink." And then I said "Where?". And he said "On this nice military dotted line". So I signed it. And then they said "Can you play the piano?". And I said "Yes". And here I am.

ECCLES:

Give us a tune.

BLUEBOTTLE:

What would you like?

ECCLES:

My ticket.

BLUEBOTTLE:

How does it go?

ECCLES:

It goes (sing): "Doctor, my dear military doctor, you gotta believe me, I got a bad back in the front. I'm not fit for active service, I gotta bone in my leg. And when I close my eyes I can't see. When I lie down it hurts me to lie sideways, [fades away enumerating diseases] {and ohh it's time for Ray Ellington...}

{BLUEBOTTLE:

Go man go.}

INTERVAL:

Ray Ellington Quartet: "Old Man River".

(applause)

FX:

WIND BLOWING UNDER...

GRYTPYPE:

Moriarty?

MORIARTY:

[(toothless) What? Can't you see I'm busy licking a jam spoon?]{Grytpype?}

GRYTPYPE:

Tell [us] {them} who we are.

MORIARTY:

[This us is] Moriarty and [this us is] Grytpype. {It got a laugh, it passed the time. Continue.}

{GRYTPYPE:

Hello Ted.}

{MORIARTY:

Hello Jim.}

GRYTPYPE:

What's that coming round the mountain pass in Cyrenaica?

MORIARTY:

{I'll soon tell.} Hand me my [telescopic] wig. I'll just trim the fringe.

FX:

SCISSORS.

MORIARTY:

Ah, yes. Sapristi pompet! It's a giant Christmas pudding with a sign on top that says "Low bridge".

GRYTPYPE:

Anything else?

MORIARTY:

Yes, a low bridge. This is our big chance.

GRYTPYPE:

Big chance - to what?

MORIARTY:

[Oh,] To eat! {Oh, (smacks lips) food, I've got to have food! Oohhh.} Give me my teeth back {, give me my teeth back}!

GRYTPYPE:

You shan't have them, Moriarty, they're mine {, they're mine} forever.

{MORIARTY:

Oh ya, noo aah. Be kind to a little steaming recorder.}

GRYTPYPE:

You should never have left France [for the National Health colonic irrigation!].

MORIARTY:

[We must get that pudding before Christmas or it will be out of date.] {(lip smacking noises) No, no, nar, ~~~ never lefted it, it left me.}

GRYTPYPE:

{You, you nifty Norman, you.} [Right] First we must stop them, Moriarty. Now, you [stand in the road and raise your kilt] {lay across the road and show the top of your boot}.

{MORIARTY:

Right.}

GRYTPYPE:

[No!] Not too much {though}! It may be a lady driver!

{MORIARTY:

Right!}

FX:

SCREECHING TYRES TO A STOP.

GRYTPYPE:

[Dear] {There,} Moriarty she pulled up -

MORIARTY:

[I know (laughs).] {But they ran over me first!}

GRYTPYPE:

(laughing) And I ruined the gag.

MORIARTY:

And I['ll] continue{d} as if nothing [has]{had} happened.

{GRYTPYPE:

I shall follow suit.}

BLUEBOTTLE:

Ah, {poor} little thin man. [are you ill] {Did we hurted you}?

MORIARTY:

Yes {, little cardboard string lad}. Only one thing can save poor old Moriarty's life.

GRYTPYPE:

Yes, [let me speak - I'm his guru -] he must have a diet of military Christmas pudding which he must eat on the move.

ECCLES:

{That's a bit of luck,} [Oh, yer!] Christmas pudding will keep you on the move all right {, chum!}

{ECCLES}[BLUEBOTTLE]:

And we're driving one on the move {, as well}.

GRYTPYPE:

[Good] {Quick!} Help me get him [and his starvation] inside {then}.

[OMNES:

Grunting etc.]

{ECCLES:

OK, I'll take his legs, you take his arm, and I'll take ~~~ ...nothing left is there ~~~ ~~~ ..}

GREENSLADE:

[Elsewhere] {Meanwhile, meanwhile} the portion of the pudding destined for the Antarctic base was on board the [SS Phyllis] {Theron}, going full steam ahead over the ice floes.

FX:

WIND AND SEA. BREAKING OF ICE.

BLOODNOK:

Oh, gad, what a night [on board]. Nothing but sleep. I tell you, [it's freezing out there. Mine are all shrivelled up!] {I tell you it's hell out there.}

{SEAGOON:

Actually it's a little bit colder.}

{BLOODNOK:

Oohh!}

SEAGOON:

Keep your chin up, Major!

BLOODNOK:

Why?

SEAGOON:

It's in the soup!

BLOODNOK:

I'm sorry, I thought my beard was on fire.

SEAMAN:

Land ahead!

SEAGOON:

{Hear that?} They've sighted the {Thurston} ice-shelf. Gad, in a few days we'll be at the base with the pudding. What a thrill it will be. I can see Dr Foulkes' face now.

BLOODNOK:

You've got damned good eyesight ...

{SEAGOON:

Thank you.}

{BLOODNOK:

... that's all I can tell}.

SEAGOON:

Prepare to unload pudding, dogs and sleds. {Woowowohhww!}

ORCHESTRA:

DRAMATIC CHORDS.

[FX:

YAPPING DOGS - GRUNTING.]

[SEAGOON:

It was hellish work pulling our pudding on the ice.]

GREENSLADE:

Seven months later...[as the crow flies, a line of dialogue.]

{FX:

WIND UNDER:}

BLOODNOK:

{Ah...,} oh, Seagoon, [I'm knackered!] what's the time?

SEAGOON:

I can't tell you until it gets dark.

BLOODNOK:

Why {not}?

SEAGOON:

My watch has got a luminous dial.

BLOODNOK:

Curse, we shall have to wait till nightfall before we know it's [dark] {late}.

SEAGOON:

{Who cares about things like that? When we've.} [Good God!] we've run out of food!

BLOODNOK:

We've still got the Christmas pudding. {Let us eat that.}

SEAGOON:

[stop!] {What?} You touch that, Bloodnok, and I'll, {I'll drop you in your tracks}.

{BLOODNOK:

Oohh!}

SEAGOON:

{Ahh,} that's for the boys at the Antarctic base.

BLOODNOK:

But if we don't eat it, we won't have the strength to pull it.

SEAGOON:

{At the back of my legs} I knew he was right. All right, {Bloodnok, but we'll, we'll} just have a thin quarter ounce slice {of pudding} each.

BLOODNOK:

Can't I have a thick quarter ounce slice?

SEAGOON:

No, but I'll meet you halfway.

BLOODNOK:

Alright, I'll see you there then. {Forward!}

{MILLIGAN:

(indian? mutterings)}

ORCHESTRA:

DRAMATIC CHORDS.

FX:

ICY WIND HOWLING. [DISTANT HOWLING WOLVES]

[GREENSLADE::

Log of expedition.]

[FX:

SOUND OF NIB SCRATCHING PAPER.]

SEAGOON:

December 52nd. Took of record of effects. (FX cease) For three nights now, gallant Bloodnok has volunteered to stay awake and guard the pudding.

[FX:

SOUND OF NIB SCRATCHING PAPER.]

BLOODNOK:

December 1st, pudding getting smaller.

[FX:

SOUND OF NIB SCRATCHING PAPER.]

SEAGOON:

Bloodnok getting bigger.

[FX:

SOUND OF NIB SCRATCHING PAPER.]

BLOODNOK:

Seagoon getting suspicious.

[FX:

SOUND OF NIB SCRATCHING PAPER.]

SEAGOON:

December 19th!

[FX:

SOUND OF NIB SCRATCHING PAPER.]

BLOODNOK:

Oohhh!

[FX:

SOUND OF NIB SCRATCHING PAPER.]

SEAGOON:

Caught Bloodnok [Red]{brown}-handed digging into the pudding!

BLOODNOK:

It's a lie. [I'm brown handed!] {We're just good friends, I tell you. Officer, arrest that pudding for molesting me out of season, you hear!}

SEAGOON:

Bloodnok, [you fool,] you devil {of the snows!}

{BLOODNOK:

Oohh!}

SEAGOON:

Open your hand!

FX:

COINS FALLING TO FLOOR.

{BLOODNOK:

Aahh!}

SEAGOON:

AAhhhh! So that's what you're after, {the} thruppenny bits!

BLOODNOK:

Yes, I wanted to make a brown phone call!

SEAGOON:

Phones? Here? Ha, ha, ha, ha.

FX:

PHONE RINGING.

SEAGOON:

Don't answer it, it's a mirage.

BLOODNOK:

[Mirages don't ring] {Nonsense}, it's a phone.

[SEAGOON:

You can't out-act me! It's a PHONE!]

{FX:

PHONE PICKED UP.}

BLOODNOK:

[Nonsense] Hello?

MIRAGE:

Hello, this is a mirage speaking.

FX:

PHONE THROWN DOWN.

BLOODNOK:

Ooohh. You were right, Seagoon. Oh, unless we reach the base soon my mind will [die of starvation]{give out}.

[FX:

DUCK QUACKS.]

[BLOODNOK:

It's the phone again - ohh!]

[SEAGOON:

Rubbish, ducks don't ring.]

{SEAGOON:

Well, try to use it as little as possible.}

{BLOODNOK:

I always do!}

FX:

[LORRY DRIVES UP AND STOPS] TRUCK TYRES SQUEALING TO A STOP.

ECCLES:

{Heeelloolloo! Hellooo fellers.} Hello [, boys]. We've brought you your Christmas pudding.

[BLOODNOK:

It's a mirage.]

SEAGOON:

What what what what what {what what what what what what what what? What?}

[ECCLES:

Hello dere - phew, what a scorcher!]

[SEAGOON:

The voice came from an idiot in a vest and sun helmet pouring with sweat.]

ECCLES:

{No thanks, I'm trying to give them up.} Here, I bet this is the first time you've had snow in Libya.

BLOODNOK:

{What? We're in} Libya? [It's a mirage]

SEAGOON:

Nonsense.

{ECCLES:

I am.}

SEAGOON:

According to my calculations and our position on the map, we are 20 miles south of here.

BLOODNOK:

Well, we shall soon settle this. Let's ask [this mirage] {somebody}. Excuse me, sir, where's our position?

GREENSLADE:

Cher monsieur, soyez le bienvenue a` New York.

BLOODNOK:

He says, "Welcome to New York".

[SEAGOON:

Nonsense. Mirages don't speak French.]

ECCLES:

What's New York doing in Libya?

[BLOODNOK:

You mean, what's New York doing in the Antarctic?]

{SEAGOON:

Nonsense, nonsense, Eccles. You mean what's New York doing in the Antarctic?}

[ECCLES:

Wot's der Antarctic doing in Libya?]

BLOODNOK:

Perhaps it's on holiday.

ECCLES:

{It's the best(??)} [This] time of the year [?].

SEAGOON:

Will you stop talking rubbish?

ECCLES:

[Have you got a piano] {I make my living doing that}.

BLOODNOK:

{Sing Frankie.} Well, we'll soon settle where we are. {Stand me on my head. Right. Now then,} I'll just toss this coin {, this melody coin}.

FX:

COIN FALLING.

BLOODNOK:

Ah! Heads! {There.} We are in Mongolia!

SEAGOON:

Ah! But you're using a Mongolian penny.

BLOODNOK:

[Only on one side]{Yes, but only from the inside}.

SEAGOON:

What does that mean?

BLOODNOK:

It means we are [on one side of] {in} Mongolia!

ECCLES:

I want to learn the piano.

SEAGOON:

[What are you talking about?]{Liberace started out live(??) and look how he's turned out.}

(continue arguing as Greenslade starts his next line below:)

ECCLES:

[About ten words a minute] {Wait a minute}.

[SEAGOON:

Stop! Stop! - I know - it's me - I'm a mirage - that's it! Help - help!!!]

[GREENSLADE::

(talks over Seagoon's babbling) Ladies and gentlemen, you've been listening to a series of mirages called the Goon Show - it will be cold tonight with frost.]

[ECCLES:

Here, I found a piano -]

[FX:

TERRIBLE PIANO FADE OUT INTO ANTARCTIC WINDS - IN THE DISTANCE WE HEAR BLOODNOK AND SEAGOON ACCUSING EACH OTHER OF BEING A MIRAGE.]

{GREENSLADE:

(Over others arguing) Here is an urgent communiqué from the War Office. If a sledge drawn by Seagoon RN should arrive at the transit camp in Melbourne, will the commanding officer please redirect him to the Antarctic base.}

{VOICE:

(Sellers)(accompanied by Eccles repeating everything) Here is a further message. If a hollow Christmas pudding on wheels should report to the British Embassy in Calcutta, will they please shoot the driver. And eh, oh, yes, eh, Merry Christmas to you all, Goodnight!}

{SEAGOON:

Good night!}

{ORCHESTRA:

PLAY OUT.}

{GREENSLADE:

That was the Goon Show, a BBC recorded programme 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 Pat Dixon.}