SCRIPT: SPIKE MILLIGAN & LARRY STEPHENS
TRANSMISSION: THURSDAY 31st JANUARY 1957
Wal: This is the BBC.
Peter: Ooh you (inaudible), you.
Neddie: You’ll get a punch up the conk, if you don’t belt up, mate!
Wal: Mr Seagoon, please – such vulgarity ill-becomes you.
Jim Spriggs: Nonsense! It suits him down to the ground!
Neddie: What?!
Spriggs: Face it – he nearly is part of the ground.
Neddie: You can’t baffle me with the posh chat, Mr Spriggs. Now Mr Greenslade, if you’ll just stand in this bath of treacle, and sit down slowly, you’ll come to a sticky end!
Orch: Tatty chord and cymbal snap
Neddie: Hup! Part Two.
Orch: Tatty chord and cymbal snap
Wal: The dreaded Goon Show.
Orch: Tatty chord and cymbal snap
Wal: This week...
Neddie: The Moon Show!
Spike (off): Everybody dance!
Grams: Very old Jack Hylton record – 8 seconds – fade under...
Spriggs: Yes folks, it is 1863, a year of months...
Grams: fade out
Spriggs:... no giggling, please. Now then, if listeners in the Lincolnshire district will raise their blinds, they will observe the Moon, casting its painted wooden beams on the compost heap on which is found a ragged idiot recumbent on a field of turnips. He speaks in spokes...ahaheeowww..
Neddie: Ah Moon, ah English-type Moon – what beauty, what rotundity, what delicacy, what purity, what joy!
Grytpype-Thynne: What rubbish...
Neddie: What, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, what!?
Grytpype: Only ten watts? You’re not very bright, are you?
Orch: Tatty chord and cymbal snap – “hoi!”
Neddie: I don't wish to know that...
Spike: (off) I say, look here...
Neddie: The voice came from a face sinister standing up a tree.
Moriarty: Owwwoo!
Grytpype: Seagoon held up a board which said..
Neddie: What are you doing up that tree?
Grytpype: We are mountaineering on a rather tight budget... Allow me to introduce my friend here on the South Col branch... he is, and I quote from the Blue Book of the London Telephone Directory, Count Jim ‘Knees’ ...
FX: Temple block
Moriarty: Owww.
Grytpype:... Moriarty, fruit-bottler extraordinary to the house of Pronque and ex-World Turkish Bath champion.
Moriarty: Owww. Ow-ow-owww, listen Neddy. We heard your poetry, and its an insult to people without knees, to hear that type of stuff.
Neddie: What, what, what, what, what, what, what?
Moriarty: And you can say that again – whatwhatwhat...(modulates into Spike’s chicken impression)...
Neddie: Listen, Jim ‘Broody’ Moriarty, do you realise you’re addressing Neddy David Seagoon, celebrated ink-writer and tramp poet for East Clun? If you can do better, go ahead...
Grytpype: Right, lad. Moriarty, hand me my poet’s tin speaking trumpet...
Moriarty: Right... I’ll plug it into my knees.
FX: Temple block
Moriarty: (pain) Owooo!
Grytpype; (megaphone) There once was a beautiful boon, It was up in the sky, chum, When he said ‘What’s the time?’, They replied ‘What?’ and the horse departed, leaving sparks.
Neddie: It didn’t rhyme, or scan...
Grytpype: D’you think it was easy?
Moriarty: You see, Neddie, that’s known as poetic licence.
Neddie: Where can I get a poetic licence?
Moriarty: Ah, there’s just one left in the shop. Here... eightpence, marked down from six foot three!
Neddie: What a reduction! I’ll just write you a cheque on the side of this horse.
Grytpype: Right – sign your name across the bottom.
FX: Scratchy pen scribbling – horse whinny
Neddie: Whoops! Ah-ha! There! There, gentlemen.
Moriarty: Wait a minute! How do we know this horse won’t bounce?
Neddie: I assure you – any reputable stable will cash it.
Grytpype: Thank you, Neddie, and here’s our receipt on this banjo.
FX: Quick banjo lick, sound of something metallic dropping on floor...
Neddie: Thank you and thonk you! And now to test my new poetic licence. Where’s my leather speaking trumpet? Ahem-hem-hem-hem. (megaphone) Ah Moon you’re like a melody-type tune, you’re so clever you could rhyme with ‘goon’. Oooh, what a boon is the Moon in June, divoon! I’ll think of another rhyme, soon. And in this land of liberty, I’ll make my living at poetry!
Grytpype: You’ll starve... You know, I’m afraid, lad, your verse still lacks Browning’s merry note.
Neddie: Did he leave one?
Grytpype: For the milkman, he did, yes...
Moriarty: Listen Neddie, you’re very fond of the Moon, aren’t you?
Neddie: Yes – if only it were mine!
Grytpype: Neddie, it can be. Step up into the tree, into my office.
FX: Door-knob rattle, opens, door closes (shades of ITMA!) – typewriter – continues under...
Typist (Spike): M’ning Mr G.
Grytpype: Good morning... Now Neddie, pull up your trousers and sit down. Neddie... the Moon has been in Moriarty’s family, for many generations.
Moriarty: (off) Owwww.
Neddie: You mean the Moon is of French origin?
Grytpype: So the blood tests show... Unfortunately, at the end of the last century during the anti-Moriarty riots in Paris, the dear Count was forced to flee to England, bringing the Moon with him.
Neddie: How did he manage that?
Moriarty: I brought it in the daytime, disguised as the Sun!
Neddie: Quel brilliant stratagem!
Grytpype: (cod French accent) Qel terrible pronunciation!
Neddie: What, what, what, what, what, what what?!!
Grytpype: I’m coming to that... you see, lad, owing to the high cost of maintaining his ancestral bed-sitter, Count Moriarty is forced to put the Moon on the open market.
Neddie: It’s for sale?
Grytpype: Only by public auction, Neddie.
Neddie: (quickly) Where, well, how, what, who?
Grytpype: Yes, well for reasons best known to Moriarty, the auction will take place at dead of night, in a tree at Christie’s.
Moriarty: Yes – till then. Neddie, ah-revoyer!
Grytype: Which is French for Max Geldray.
Neddie: Right! Round the back for the old brandy, there!
FX: Many boots running away
ORCH: Max Geldray plays “Tenderly” (Walter Gross/Jack Lawrence – Edwin H Morris and Co Inc)
Wal: And now the Moon Show, Part Two. An auction.
ORCH: Tatty chord, cymbal snap
Omnes: Rhubarb
Spriggs: Gentlemen - gentlemen, please. Gentlemen, please - if you will take up your positions in your respective trees, we will commence the auction. Now then, first one Moon, the property of Count Moriarty. Now folks... (usual Spriggs sing-song) what am I bid for one moon-ooon?
Grytpype: Start the bidding, Neddie.
Neddie: Seven-and-six!
Moriarty: Seven-and-six – Neddie, you can out-bid that!
Neddie: Ten shillings!
Spriggs: Ten shillings...going once at shillings ten...
Grytpype: Ten shillings, Neddie? Don't let him get away with that!
Neddie: You’re right! Twelve-and-eleven!
Moriarty: It’s worth more, Neddie!
Neddie: Twelve-and-twelve!
Spriggs: Sold at twelve-and-twelvepence!
FX: One rap with gavel
Spriggs: Oh, my finger... now the next item is this explodable bust of Marilyn.. (fade under)
Neddie: Mine! The Moon is mine! (sings) “The Moon is mine tonight, Its silv’ry beam comes down through my w-i-i-ndow. The Moon is mine tonight, is mine al-o-o-o-o—one.”
Grytpype: You'll starve...
Wal: Now the proud owner of the Moon, Seagoon retired to his centrally-heated compost-heap in Lincolnshire, and applied himself to his steaming art.
Grams: Owl hooting.
Neddie: Now where’s my new roast-beef speaking-trumpet? (Throat clearing noises) No poetry speaker is complete without it... (owl hoots) (megaphone) Right, testing one – two –three. (normal) Seems all right to me. (throat clearing) Now (megaphone) ‘Now–oo Moon of my dreams, How brightly it beams’ What comes next? I know, ‘Ying-tong-iddle-i-po’.
Bloodnok: (coming on mic) Bravo, bravo lad! Aren’t you Neddie ‘Under Milk Pudding’ Seagoon?
Neddie: Major Bloodnok - what are you doing here?
Bloodnok: I’ve turned camp composer, lad.
Neddie: We-e-ell, give us a tune on an instrument.
Bloodnok: Well,it only plays if you place a coin in it, you see, and I, er, I seem to have left my pockets in my other suit...
Neddie: Here’s a shilling.
Bloodnok: Oh ta, yes, fine - now away we go, one, two three...
FX: Coin in slot – dropped into cash receptacle
Bloodnok: And the next dance please!
Neddie: What a beautiful tune that was...
Bloodnok: Yes, it’s number one on the stock exchange, you know... I wrote it myself... ‘It was Spring and the Moon above Paris...’
Neddie: Stop, Bloodnok! Moon over Paris...Moon above Paris... obviously Moriarty didn’t bring the moon over from France in the first place. This one over England must be a forgery!
Bloodnok: What? Well there’s only one way to prove it, lad... We must consult the Royal College of Astronomers, and to give us time to get there, Tom Danger and his orchestra will play in the pavilion.
GRAMS: Very small pit band plays “If You Knew Susie” – some speed variation - fade under
Wal: As Seagoon hurries to the Royal College of Astronomy, awaiting him there are two erudite astronomers, who are even at this moment, astronoming.
Bluebottle: ‘Ere – Professor Eccles...
Eccles: Please, Professor Bottle, my good man...
Bluebottle: Yes?
Eccles: Let me get on with my muthmattigle-er...
Bluebottle: OK, den.
Eccles: Away with you...
Bluebottle: (off) Alright, den!
Eccles: Let me see now... computations...
FX: scribble
Eccles: ... higher mathematics...
FX: scribble
Eccles: ...lower mathematics... X
FX: scribble
Eccles... two straight lines... is the unknown quantity. (smacking of lips) X...
FX: scribble
Eccles: Two...
FX: scribble
Eccles: Do you think Arsenal will beat the Spurs this week?
Bluebottle: I should think... I should think it’s most unlikely.
Eccles: Why?
Bluebottle: They’re playing Blackpool... ‘Ere, Professor Eccles... have you seen the Moon anywhere?
Eccles: You must remember where you put things, my good man. Have you looked up the giant telescope?
Bluebottle: Oh... I’ll try that. Yes! I will try dat!
FX: winding sound
Bluebottle: Ooh, you was right – the Moon is inside the telescope!... Look t’rough dere...
Eccles: Ooo! (rubbish) Yer! The moon’s up de other end. And a bit of de sky! Let’s put the cap on the end, quick.
Bluebottle: Ooh goody, goody! We’ve got it trapped.
FX: Door handle rattle – door opens
Min and Henry Crun: ad lib oohs, ahs, mnks etc...
FX: Door closes
Eccles: Dat got rid of him! He’s gone!
FX: Door handle rattle – door opens
Crun: Who’s gone?
Eccles: Er – you are.
Crun: You naught boys, what have you done with me?
Min: What have you done with Henry?
Crun: What are you doing with the great all-British leather telescope?
Eccles: Er – ah – we captured the Moon inside it, Professor!
Crun: Oh... let me see, with the looking-type gaze – just a... oh! Min!
Min: Woh!
Crun: They’re right – they’ve captured the Moon!
Min: Oooooh!
Crun: Oh... we must put it in the fridge, before it goes off.
Min: Goes off, Henry?
Crun: Yes... didn’t you know the Moon is made of green cheese?
Min: Pooooh! We can have it for supper, Henry.
Bluebottle: Oh, that’s a good idea, Auntie Min.
Min: Young Bottle! What are you doing out of bed without your pyjama trousers on?
Bluebottle: The thing what it was... we was playin’ from the latest film, Zarak, and Little Jim had my pyjama trousers over his nut...
Min: Ooh!
Bluebottle: He got one arm down the leg-‘ole, waving it about like a trunk. He was an elephant, you see...
Min: Go on, Buddy...
Bluebottle: But suddenly – er – I sneezed, and the seat of my trousers fell out and knocked Little Jim in to the bath.
Min: Oh, dear, dear...
Bluebottle: Little Jim... Little Jim Little Jim – tell dem what happened, Little Jim.
Little Jim: I fell in da wa-ater.
Crun: Min, Min – get these adopted children up to bed.
Min: Shut up, you naughty old...
FX: Three knocks on door – door is opened
Neddie: Good evening.
Crun: Oh – come in out of the dry and wet yourself by this tap.
Neddie: Thank you – Professor, I want proof that there’s only one genuine Moon.
Crun: Ah, there is only one, we’ve got it trapped in this telescope here.
Neddie: Let me see – Ha ha ha-ha-ha ho ho ho! That’s the forged one! The real Moon is over Paris.
Crun: What! Oh - mnk, this means war with Napoleon! Take the scabbard off my safety pin and fetch my leather horse, quickly.
Min: All right, Henry... wipe him down (rubbish)..
Crun: Oh, you old (rubbish)...
Neddie: I must go to France and get back my rightful Moon. Farewell! Ellington, keep them amused while I’m away.
Ray Ellington: Man, the excuses he makes to get to that brandy...
Music – Ray Ellington Quartet – “Is This The Way?”
FX: Tambourine rattle (Kentucky Minstrels style)
Ray: Gentlemen - be seated....and the ladies - keep standin’.
Wal: Meantime, in the Hotel de Luxe de Super Ritz in Paris...
GRAMS: Musette accordion quick waltz. Fade under...
Grytpype: Waiter, er – garkon.
Waiter (Spike, French) What is it, manure?
Grytpype: Moriarty? I’m tired of driving this lift, d’you hear?
Moriarty: I told you that twelve shillings we got off Seagoon wouldn’t go far.
Neddie: (coming on mic) (bad French rubbish)... Pouvez-vous tell me where is the sale de bayne..?
Grytpype: Neddie!
Neddie: Grytpype!
Moriarty: Moriarty!
Grytpype: Shut up you heavily-oiled French wreck!
Moriarty: Aargh..
Neddie: Gentlemen...
Moriarty: Gentlemen? What does he mean?
Grytpype: It’s just a word, Moriarty.
Moriarty: Ah.
Neddie: Here is a route for your arrest...
Moriarty: Arrest?!? Run for it! Run for it!...
FX: Galloping hooves... fade under and out
Neddie: That’s the very horse I wrote my cheque on! After them, on this pit orchestra!
GRAMS: “If You Knew Susie” as before, getting faster and fading
Wal: Across the length, lingth and longth of Europe, Seagoon pursued the charlatan Moon-vendors.
Neddie: Finally I chased them to Venice.
FX: Big splash
Little Jim: He’s fallen in the w-a-ater!
Neddie: He-e-elp! Reading from left to right, h-e-l-p, HELP!
Peter: (Italian) Signor, this way, let me pull you from the water.
Neddie: Aha – oh – thank you! You saved my life.
Italian: Well, we all make mistakes, you know...
Neddie: I know – I saw your wife – now, where are they?
Italian: Hiding behind the clothes-horse, in Rumania.
Neddie: All right, you two, come out fom behind that clothes-horse in Rumania.
Moriarty: Curse, he’s seen us in Rumania. The game’s up, Grytpype.
Grytpype: Never, Moriarty. Get behind the wheel of these running shoes, right?
Moriarty: Hold tight, and off we go to the depot...
GRAMS: Powerful engine accelerates, and away...
Neddie: Curses! They had the perfect formula for escape. Don’t worry, listeners, as the criminals in the streamlined LCC plimsolls fled over the Pont de Rialto, I leapt into an English airing-cupboard, and gave chase!
ORCH: Three portentous chords...
FX: Running feet
Grytpype: Quicker, Moriarty! Get more power out of those jam-tins...
Moriarty: But they're old, Grytpype - made in 1929....
Neddie: (off mic) You sold me the wrong Moon! It’s a forgery, Grytpype! (fading) I know where you are...
Wal: While the chase is in progress, I should like to take this opportunity of thanking you all for your letters to me. (Neddie continues shouting in the background) Many correspondents have asked why I have not made more significant and prolonged appearances in my role of Wallace Greenslade, Demon Talker. I can assure you, that I have approached Mr Seagoon with regard to taking over his part in the show. He said – well -er - I’ve got it written down here, er, ‘you stick to announcing or you will get a punch up your big steaming conk’. Which – er – which, as you will all agree, is not the wittiest of lines. I will therefore return you to the Great Seagoon versus Moriarty/Grytpype-Thynne chase, this time with piano accompaniment.
MUSIC: Piano, Sellars-type rambling chords and tremolos.
Grytpype: Quicker Moriarty...
Moriarty: I’m going as quick as I can...
Grytpype: Get more power out of those jam-tins....
Moriart: But they're old, Grytpype...
Neddie: (off mic) You sold me the wrong Moon! It’s a forgery, Grytpype! (fading) I know where you are...
Moriarty: I'm going as fast as I can...
Grytpype: Hurry up, Moriarty! Who was that lady I saw you with last night?
Moriarty: That was no lady etc...
Neddie: I don’t wish to know that!
Grytpype: You pair of idiots!
Neddie: I say, this is all jolly exciting, isn’t it?
Grytpype: Yes it is, isn’t it?
Music: piano fades out.
FX: One pair of running feet..
Moriarty: (Gasp) Ohhh – it’s no good, Grytpype. (feet halt) These feet I’m using are exhausted.
Grytpype: My knees are over-heated, too. We shall have to catch a train to Tangier.
GRAMS: Railway chime-whistle – background station sounds
Moriarty: What luck, Grytpype – here’s a sound-effect of a booking office – I’ll get the tickets. Two cheap day-returns to Tangiers.
FX: Guard’s whistle
Grytpype: We must hurry Moriarty..
Moriarty: Even quicker...
GRAMS: Whoosh. Whoosh.
Neddie: (Puffed) Where did those men book to?
Grytpype: They’re going to Tangier.
Neddie: Are they.
Moriarty: Yes.
Neddie: I’ll book the carriage right behind them and try to overtake them. Porter!
Willlium: Yes, yes...
Neddie: Carry me to the train...
Willium: You look strong enough to carry yourself, sir.
Neddie: Very well, help me up on to my shoulders.
Willium: Right. (Grunt)
Neddie: (strain)
FX: Two metallic objects drop to ground
Neddie: Whoops!
Willium: You’ve dropped your knees, mate.
FX: Guard’s whistle
Neddie: Can’t wait now, post it ti me in a plain wrapper marked ‘Knees, Urgent’.
FX: One pair of boot running – train whistle –
GRAMS: train whistle, steam engine starting, losing and regaining traction, then speed up to a high-pitched whir...
GRAMS: background of carriage wheels at speed...
Grytpype: Close that thing, will you, Moriarty.
FX: ‘thing’ closed
GRAMS: background quietens
Moriarty: Owohow – I specially asked for this seat, Grytpype, with our backs to the engine.
Grytpype: I wondered why we were sitting on the cow-catcher.
GRAMS: compartment door slid open
Neddie: Hands up! Drop everything!
FX: Various metal objects hit the floor... for some 18 seconds
Neddie: Just as I though – scrap metal merchants!
Grytpype: A life-time of work – gone!
Neddie: Now, gentlemen – that Moon you sold me was forged. I have it here inside this telescope.
Grytpype: Oh! Well, now, look here, we’re willing to sell you the real Moon, but of course it’ll work out much dearer. Now, eight million tons at one-and-nine a ton, that’ll be, what, er – fourteen pounds, Neddie.
Neddie: Done!
FX: Cash register – change dropped into drawer
Neddie: Now, my Moon, please.
Grytpype: Let me show you, Neddie; Look, I’ll just hold this jam-jar up to the sky, get it in the right position, that’s it... Now, there! What do you see in it?
Neddie: The Moon! The Moon! It’s in the jam-jar!
Grytpype: Correct, Neddie! Goodbye!
Moriarty: Ah reservoyer!
Neddie: Hooray! The Moon is mine!
ORCH: Tatty chord, cymbal snap
Wal: And that is how Mr Seagoon brought the genuine Moon back to England, and a pretty dull ending it was, too.
ORCH: 'Lucky Strike' sig. tune fade under
Wal: 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 Stevens, announcer Wallace Greenslade, the programme produced by Pat Dixon.
ORCH: up to end.