Here is one of the truly great Goon Shows, The Burning Embassy. By the beginning of the 8th series, of which this is the third episode, Milligan was fully in command of his technique and the cast were both spirited and creative in its realisation. I am convinced that they often worked with far less detailed scripts than we are notating, particularly as regards the general vocalisations which are common occurrences in the scripts. By this point each of them knew the sounds well enough that they could improvise them quickly and effectively; eg Bannister's hot rhythm song.
Nearly every scene in this show is pure genius. The Bloodnok scene playing the British Military Advisor to the Abyssinian Girl's School in Addis Ababa/ the Eccles-Bluebottle scene discussing growing old/ the Bannister-Crun scene discussing her leg measurements/ and the final bizarre scene where a lorry with a blazing British Embassy on the back collides with a cold storage van containing 23 sunburnt and frostbitten men; all are some of the greatest and funniest writing Milligan came up with, and equally the performances by the cast are spectacularly quick witted and appealling.
Note once again that Bluebottle and Eccles converse about the nature of time. (Remember that this is one of the hidden truths about the Goons - the common occurrence of the theme of time, age and mortality. Compare this Eccles-Bluebottle scene with the famous "What time is it Eccles?" scene in The Leather Omnibus.)
If you do not delight in examining the literary content of Spike's shows then I suggest you just make a mental note to follow the use of vocalisations in this show. Moriarty, Eccles and Bannister all are great groaners, grunters and whiners. Milligans palate of extemporary sound is extraordinary. It ranges from the feral Awwwww's of the starving decrepid Moriarty, to the hot jazz vocalizations of Minnie Bannister. Notice also Seller's moans and groans as Bloodnok. They hover somewhere between sexual ecstasy and the sound one makes while accomodating an enema. Follow these vocalisations through the show. They reveal the talent of the cast, and behind it all the work of a one of the greatest comic geniuses of the twentieth century.
Yukka Tukka Indians

THE BURNING EMBASSY

GOON SHOW: TLO 39928
8TH SERIES: No 3
1st BROADCAST: 14 Oct 1957

Script by: Spike Milligan and Larry Stephens

GREENSLADE: This is the BBC Home Service.
OMNES: (Hysterical laughter.)
GREENSLADE: A Merry Christmas to all our readers.
OMNES: (More hysterical laughter.)
GREENSLADE: And now the new all leather Goon Show.
SELLERS: (American jive show host.) All right kids, come on. Let’s make with the music kids.
GRAMS: Old fashioned gramophone recording of dance band circa 1929. End with explosion on final chord.
GREENSLADE: Part two. An early Gainsborough landscape depicting dawn over Wandsworth fire station. Lying in bed is a small lithograph of fireman Seagoon.
SEAGOON: (Morning breath) Ah huh. Ha! Oops! Where’s my speaking trumpet? Ah, there it is. I’ll just empty it. Ah-hem. (Megaphone) Hello folks! Calling folks! This is Fire Chief Seagoon speaking folks. Well folks, it’s a beautiful day here at Wandsworth Fire Station folks. The firemen will start their day by unrolling their hoses and watering the flowers. That’s all folks. That’s all folks! Fireman Willium?
WILLIUM: Oh, er good morning Chiefy.
SEAGOON: Any outstanding fire calls?
WILLIUM: Yeah. Well I got one ‘ere matey. I’m not too ‘appy about this. It says ‘ere, ‘Urgent,’ it says ‘ere. ‘ Cry - Crystal Palace is on fire.’
SEAGOON: A hoax. An absolute hoax I tell you. I was up there yesterday morning and there’s no such building as Crystal Palace at Crystal Palace. Right. Now then.
FX: Fireman’s whistle. Two blasts.
SEAGOON: Fire drill! Light the fire and put the kettle on.
FX: Hurried boots running up stairs. Door opens.
GRYTPYPE: Gentlemen. Bad news. Jane Mansfield is on fire.
OMNES: Screams.
GRAMS: Boots running away. Fire bells. Speed up and fade.
GRYTPYPE: Well. That got rid of them Moriarty. Quick, stick these auction labels on the furniture and let the crowd in.
FX: Door opens.
OMNES & GRAMS: Serious auction house rhubarbs.
GRYTPYPE: Gentlemen! Control your rhubarbs. Gentlemen, what am I bid for lot one?
MILLIGAN: (Parkinson disease) Two shillings.
FX: Gavel on bench
GRYTPYPE: Sold! One auctioneer’s mallet.
MORIARTY: Argghh! We’re off to a good start.
GRYTPYPE: Lot two. Complete set of Louis Quinze fireman’s furniture plus marble statues of fire-engine travelling at speed.
MORIARTY: Two shillings!
FX: Gavel on bench.
GRYTPYPE: Sold for the second time, one auctioneer’s mallet! And now we come to lot three. One cannon shell.
THROAT: Two shillings.
GRYTPYPE: Will you take it sir, or do you want it sent?
THROAT: Sent.
GRYTPYPE: Fire!
GRAMS: Cannon shot.
GRYTPYPE: It’ll be there when you get home sir. And finally gentlemen, for the musical connoisseur what am I bid for the original bedroom of fire chief Seagoon, comprising walls, roof, ceiling and one flock mattress?
MILLIGAN: Two shillings.
FX: Gavel on bench
GRYTPYPE: Sold to the gentleman who keeps changing his voice. Moriarty, time for your Awww.
MORIARTY: Awwww.
GRYTPYPE: Splendid. Now, what am I bid for this auctioneer’s mallet?
FX: Door opens.
SEAGOON: What’s going on here? Eh, eh? What’s going on? I just passed a man on the stairs carrying my room.
GRYTPYPE: He’s taking it to be repaired. It’s … er, got a puncture.
SEAGOON: My room’s got a puncture? But it’s only done two thousand miles. And another thing: Jane Mansfield was not on fire, it was the man with her.
GRYTPYPE: Did you extinguish him?
SEAGOON: Too late. By the time we arrived, he’d burnt himself out. But wait! Oh horror of horrors! I’ll get my speaking trumpet. Hello folks! (With megaphone) Hello folks! Calling folks. From where I am I can see that my entire set of Louis Quinze fireman’s furniture has been stolen. A lifetime’s work – ruined!
GRAMS: Jewish funeral weeping. Slightly higher speed.
GRYTPYPE: There, there, there, there, Neddie and fans. Now all of you stand in this bucket of water and let me explain. You see, this is all part of a great plan.
MORIARTY: Awwww!
GRYTPYPE: Shut up Moriarty! There’s a time and place for awww-ing.
MORIARTY: Where?
GRYTPYPE: I’ll think of it next week. Neddie, we’re from the Ministry of Psychologicals. The government are testing people’s reaction to sudden disaster.
SEAGOON: They’ve been doing that ever since they got in.
GRYTPYPE: Steady now. This microphone may be tapped.
FX: Distant taps on mic surface.
MORIARTY: There’s somebody tapping it now.
SEAGOON: What’s going to happen? I’m ruined!
GRYTPYPE: Ah, that’s where we the government officials come in, Neddie. With the aid of this war surplus piano we bring you the official government answer to national ruin.
PIANO: G7 introduction.
MORIARTY: (Sings) You got to face disaster with a smile.
Keep on laughing all the while
When you’re shot through the head
Don’t fall down dead -
Just pick up your bed and smile, smile, smile,
Pick up your bed and smile.
GRAMS: Wild applause.
SEAGOON: Oh, thank you. Gentlemen, you were right. That government type song has completely restored my confidence.
GRYTPYPE: Yes Neddie, and in your hour of need let us offer you the government’s full employment scheme - two pound ten a week and free laundry.
SEAGOON: Free laundry?
GRYTPYPE: Yes - you wash our clothes for nothing.
MORIARTY: Yes, and better still you pay us two pound ten a week for the privilege!
SEAGOON: Eureka! When do we start?
GRYTPYPE: Now. Moriarty?
MORIARTY: Yes?
GRYTPYPE: Take off those hessian underclothes.
MORIARTY: Right.
GRAMS: Boots departing at speed.
GRYTPYPE: (Distant) Neddie. Scrub those and return the barge pole.
SEAGOON: Right.
FX: Sawing on lump of wood.
SEAGOON: I’ll just saw through the crust on his hat. Don’t worry. I’ll soon have these nicotine stains out.
GREENSLADE: And what more ideal moment to bring in Max Geldray who has consented to play his teeth.

MAX GELDRAY

GREENSLADE: And now part two. And if anyone wants me, I shall be in the corner of some foreign field that is forever John Snagge’s office.
SEAGOON: Hardly had I got Moriarty’s underpants back to running order and oiled the hinges on his socks when the phone rang.
FX: Phone rings. Receiver picked up.
SEAGOON: Hello? Wandsworth fire station here.
CHINAMAN: (At end of line) Ah. This is Chinese Amb’lassador speaking. Can I come in prrease?
SEAGOON: Certainly.
FX: Door opens.
CHINAMAN: Ah, thank you. Thank you Mister Seagloon. I have misf’lortune to inform you that B’litish Embassy - I say again, B’litish Embassy in China has caught fire and are blazing mellily away.
SEAGOON: I’m innocent I tell you. I was nowhere near the place. My grandmother keeps a duck farm in Kent! I was stamping eggs at the time.
CHINAMAN: Ah, prrease understand. Chinese government anxious that you B’litish f’lire-men put B’litish Embassy fire ou-ult.
SEAGOON: What!
CHINAMAN: Spelt ou-ult.
SEAGOON: And freeze ‘em to death? In any case we – Why can’t the Chinese fire brigade put it out?
CHINAMAN: Ve’lly so’lly, Chinese fire b’ligade got Eu’lopean flu.
SEAGOON: There must be more than one Chinese fire brigade.
CHINAMAN: Yes, but all look alike. That Chinese gag.
SEAGOON: Alright, we’ll do it. How far is it to Peking lads?
WILLIUM: Ah, ten thousand miles.
SEAGOON: Right. Get the long hose out.
WILLIUM: It’s only forty foot long mate.
SEAGOON: Oh then we’ll have to form a bucket chain from there on.
WILLIUM: Can’t use the bucket. It’s had a puncture mate.
SEAGOON: Curse. Another disaster.
WILLIUM: You’ve got to face disaster with a smile,
Keep on laughing all the while…
SEAGOON: Stop, you singing fool!
WILLIUM: What! (A chance ruined!)
SEAGOON: I’ve had an idea.
GREENSLADE: Seagoon has just had the following idea. The water for the fire in China will be wrapped in brown paper parcels marked ‘Water. This way up’, and posted to Peking.
GRYTPYPE: Curse Moriarty. Did you hear that?
MORIARTY: Awww.
GRYTPYPE: You know very well that we can’t collect the insurance money on the British Embassy until it’s burned to the ground.
MORIARTY: Huzzah! At last – a plot!
GRYTPYPE: We’ve got to stop those parcels of water getting there alive. Link music please!
MORIARTY: Where’s my banjo?
ORCHESTRA: DRAMATIC LINK.
SEAGOON: All went well. The water parcels began to flow out of England like water. But then – bad tidings.
GRAMS: (Recording) GREENSLADE: This is the BBC Spon service and here is the news. On reaching the middle east parcels of British water intended for the blazing embassy in China have completely evaporated.
SEAGOON: Evaporated! Are you sure?
GRAMS: (Recording) GREENSLADE: Positive. Division one: Arsenal, 3; Manchester City, 682 – rain stopped play.
SEAGOON: My parcels of water evaporated? Send a radiogram to the British Embassy Peking.
GRAMS: Morse signal (continue under)
SEAGOON: (Dictating) Water supplies held up. Try to keep fire going till it arrives. Now, I must catch a plane. Hand me that butterfly net.
GREENSLADE: And so saying, Seagoon collecting an ice pick and a life jacket, set off on a defrosting flight to the middle east. The above of course is a reference to the de-icing difficulties of the Bristol Britannia, the mention of which is a topicality. And now over to the British Military Advisor to the Abyssinian Girl’s School in Addis Ababa.
ORCHESTRA: START BLOODNOK THEME
BLOODNOK: Wait a minute! Wait a minute! I haven’t got my trousers on yet, please. Aahhhh, that’s better. Now –
ORCHESTRA: BLOODNOK THEME
BLOODNOK: Ooooohh!
GRAMS: Clouds of flies.
BLOODNOK: Blast these flies. Get out of it! Get out of it you flies! Schumm! Kebel O’Tour! Singhez! Singhez Thing!
SINGHEZ THING: I am coming sir.
BLOODNOK: Take these flies out and sell them.
SINGHEZ THING: Alright. Come on boys, break’s over. Come on boys, out you go.
BLOODNOK: Now having got that matter over, now to my private matters of the day.
FX: Scratchy nib on paper.
BLOODNOK: Dear Madam, reference your advert in shop window and well known photography magazine. As a keen student of photography I should like the …
SINGHEZ THING: Pardon me. There’s a European fireman waiting in the waiting room.
BLOODNOK: What! Well tell him to wait in the hiding room while I paste these photographs in my hat. PASTE! PASTE! (Well, there’s no sound effect for paste is there?)
FX: Door opening.
SEAGOON: No there isn’t. But there is one for doors opening. Good morning. Are you Major Bloodnok?
BLOODNOK: How dare you mention that name in this house. Step outside!
FX: Door closes.
SEAGOON: Well, are you Major Bloodnok?
BLOODNOK: Yes. Come in.
FX: Door closes.
SEAGOON: Thank you. I’m Neddie Seagoon.
BLOODNOK: Ah of course. One of the Queen’s beasts! Welcome to Abyssinia.
SEAGOON: Thank you. Major, the British Embassy in China is on fire.
BLOODNOK: What!! I must have a look.
FX: Door opens.
BLOODNOK: Gad, so it is.
SEAGOON: Good heavens. Could you see it?
BLOODNOK: Of course not. I take your word for it. And now to the burning Embassy part three.
ORCHESTRA: THIN CHORD.
SEAGOON: Didn’t take long, did it?
BLOODNOK: I don’t know who you are sir, or where you come from, but it did me a power of good, that – a power of good. Now, I suppose you’re worried about these parcels of water evaporating.
SEAGOON: Not really. I’m just acting you know.
BLOODNOK: You’re acting? So that’s what it is. Don’t worry lad, your secret is safe with me.
SEAGOON: You’re in condition tonight Major.
BLOODNOK: Thank you. Now, there’s only one way to stop evaporation in this heat. Send your water by a cooler route.
SEAGOON: For instance?
BLOODNOK: Over the north pole, through the white hell of Fitz-felloo, across outer Mongolia and finally a three – four – nine tram to the Embassy.
SEAGOON: But by the time we took that route the fire would be out.
BLOODNOK: You see? Success from the start! Eight guineas please.
FX: Cash register. Bell rings. Coin into tray.
BLOODNOK: I thank you, and the next please.
FX: Door opens.
BLOODNOK: Now my dear, what’s your problem?
SEAGOON: These parcels of water, what causes the evaporation?
BLOODNOK: The sun! The sun!
SEAGOON: The sun?
BLOODNOK: Yes.
SEAGOON: We must get rid of it. I know, I shall scrampton-scree the scrounds-screw…
BLOODNOK: Yes.
MORIARTY: Did you hear that Grytpype? Another part of the plot.
GRYTPYPE: Don’t worry Moriarty. The sun is safe.
MORIARTY: Are you sure?
GRYTPYPE: Yes. I put fire-guard in front of it.
MORIARTY: Supposing the sun is attacked?
GRYTPYPE: Not a hope Moriarty. It’s guarded by two Interpol sun-worshippers!
GRAMS: Fire crackling. Continue under entire scene.
BLUEBOTTLE: Eccles? Throw another twig on the sun. We don’t want it to go out on us, do we!
ECCLES: Yeah, you got to be careful.
BLUEBOTTLE: Yeah.
ECCLES: The sun went out last night – and it stayed out all night.
BLUEBOTTLE: Oohhao! It must be a Tom.
ECCLES: Oooh! That’s what his name is – Tom Sun.
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes! Ooheeeghe!
ECCLES: I wish I knew all them clever things that you know Bluebottle.
BLUEBOTTLE: Well, it all takes time you know my good man. Did you know that … (Don’t do that Eccles. It’s not nice.) Did you know Eccles… ?
ECCLES: I knew Eccles. Oh, that’s me.
BLUEBOTTLE: We mens are growing older all the time.
ECCLES: What! What! What! What!
BLUEBOTTLE: I said, we’re growing older all the time.
ECCLES: What, er – even when we’re standing still?
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes.
ECCLES: Well, it’s not fair. I didn’t know anything about this.
BLUEBOTTLE: Well, you have got to face up to it my good man.
ECCLES: I don’t – I don’t believe it. I don’t believe we’re getting old all the time.
BLUEBOTTLE: It’s true.
ECCLES: Ah, owwh. Let me have a little test.
BLUEBOTTLE: Alright then.
ECCLES: You stand ‘dere and I’ll watch and see if you get any older.
BLUEBOTTLE: Fair do’s. Fair do’s.
ECCLES: Alright then. Ready?
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes.
ECCLES: Go. (Pause) Still look the same to me. There’s no difference at all my good man.
BLUEBOTTLE: I know why. That’s cause you been getting older as well. (Thinks to self - )
ECCLES: Oh, I’d better go away then.
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes. (I must admit I didn’t notice Eccles getting older either. I will experiment.) Says aloud – Eccles!
ECCLES: Yeah!
BLUEBOTTLE: Do you know what I will do? I will time us getting old with my tiger-tim watch. Ready?
ECCLES: I’ll just put my hat on. Ok, ready.
BLUEBOTTLE: Go! (Long pause) There! You just got ten seconds older.
ECCLES: Oooh! Did I?
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes.
ECCLES: It didn’t hurt at all. Here, this is fun!
BLUEBOTTLE: Ye-ess!
ECCLES: Here, let’s go and stand over there and get old now.
BLUEBOTTLE: Let’s get older over there.
ECCLES: Let’s stand over there. Ok, ready?
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes.
ECCLES: One! Two!
GREENSLADE: And here to make everyone old is Ray ‘Do-it yourself’ Ellington and his rapidly decaying quartet.

RAY ELLINGTON

GREENSLADE: And now if listeners will set fire to their Radio Times, they’ll be able to re-enact this next scene - a smoke filled room at the British Embassy Peking.
GRAMS: Flames crackling.
BANNISTER: (Singing hot rhythm) Ooooh. Yim bum biddle boh! They’re driving me crazy. I’ve got onions on my bunions. The rocking through the hot house with you. Dibba dibba dub bum…
CRUN: (Fibrillations) Stop it! Stop it! Stop that sinful singing Min. How can you perform those sensuous gyrations in those revealing low cut brown elastic sided boots I’ll never know!
BANNISTER: I was born to dance, Henry! Heeyipa pupa pipa pupa…
CRUN: Naughty, naughty.
BANNISTER: Yipa bupa pupa boo! Diriribaba bapa bapum. Ch, ch, ch ch, ch, ch ch, ch ch ch ch ch! I’ve got the measurements for dancing buddy – forty-one, eighteen, thirty-six!
CRUN: (Fibrillations) Ooaauuugh! What a figure Min!
BANNISTER: Those are my leg measurements.
CRUN: WHAT! Who did you allow to measure your legs?
BANNISTER: I’ll tell you. (Sings) I’ll tell you tonight!
CRUN: WHO?!
BANNISTER: Mrs. Millie Toolie.
CRUN: (Heart attack territory) Mrs. Millie Toolie? I’ll kill him. I’ll put an end to your brown leather rhythms.
BANNISTER: Poooooooooow!
CRUN: Now, I’ll just get this gas stove under my head, and put these lead pipes down my trousers. There! Let that be a lesson to you, you sinful … (sniffs) What’s burning Min? What’s burning?
BANNISTER: Oooh! It’s soles of my boots are on fire.
CRUN: You shouldn’t stand with your back to the Embassy. Swallow this tablet of water.
GRAMS: Gushing fountain.
BANNISTER: Oooh. That’s better buddy. Oooooooo! Oooooh that’s better.
CRUN: Be careful Min, careful. Don’t let that steam get up your legs or you’ll get the dreaded Manchu knee-cramp.
BANNISTER: Listen Henry, we can’t keep this Embassy burning much longer buddy. The neighbours are starting to talk.
CRUN: Ooo. Then we’d better pull the curtains Min.
BANNISTER: Ok buddy. I”ll…
FX: Knocking on door.
BANNISTER: Ooh! Answer that burning door.
FX: Door opens.
MORIARTY: Ahm, awwww. Pardon me honourable sir. Chinese postal service. A parcel of water for you.
CRUN: At last. (Sniffs) Wait a moment sir. This water smells like petrol.
MORIARTY: Xah xah xah xah xah xah xahoh! Yes, it was disguised as petrol to get it through the customs. Chop, chop.
CRUN: Thank you. Chop, chop.
FX: Door closes
CRUN: Now Min, let us throw this parcel on …
FX: Door opens.
SEAGOON: Stop! Saved in the nick of time! The forces of evil are foiled.
OMNES: Pantomime cheering.
SEAGOON: Give me that parcel. Pour it in the tank of this car. Right.
GRAMS: Car speeds off and returns. Skids to a halt.
SEAGOON: Just as I thought. This car runs on water. But apart from that, that parcel contained petrol.
GRYTPYPE: We’ve got him worried Moriarty. He’s fluffing his lines.
SEAGOON: Mr. Crun, we’re having difficulty getting the water to this fire. It would help if you could load the Embassy onto a lorry and meet us in Addis Ababa outside the Odeon seven o’clock Thursday night.
CRUN: Ooh! How can we recognise you?
SEAGOON: I shall be driving a red fire engine. Goodbye!
BANNISTER: Goodbye.
ORCHESTRA: DRAMATIC LINK. RESOLVE INTO OMINOUS AFRICAN CHORDS WITH SPRIGGS ON LEAD VOCALS.
SEAGOON: All of which means I’ve arrived back in Africa.
BLOODNOK: Yes Neddie, and we’ve solved the evaporation problem.
SEAGOON: You mean you’ve frozen the water into ice blocks which have been placed in that giant cold storage van?
BLOODNOK: Yes. And it saved me saying it. Now put these furs on because inside that van it’s forty below.
SEAGOON: Gad yes, and three foot of snow. And the entire cast dressed in furs.
BLOODNOK: Gad what a sight. If only this were coloured radio.
SEAGOON: Right. Willium, insert this steering wheel under your dentures and drive.
WILLIUM: I ain’t never driv before, mate.
SEAGOON: I’ll give you a quick British-type driving test. Now – um, uh ah – spell car.
WILLIUM: K - A - R - E.
SEAGOON: Right! You’ve passed. Now hang this oil painting of an ‘L’ plate around you’re neck and away we go!
GRAMS: Lorry pulls away.
ORCHESTRA: DRAMATIC LINK
GRAMS: Lorry travelling on highway.
SPRIGGS: As the refrigeration van bumped along folks, the heat outside was a hundred and thirty degrees. But inside the van –
GRAMS: Howling arctic wind. Huskies barking.
CYRIL: Mush! Mush! Must keep the dogs at the gallop.
SEAGOON: Whatever for?
CYRIL: We don’t want to be left behind.
SEAGOON: Left behind? But we’re inside the lorry.
CYRIL: Yes, but what if it goes faster than we do?
SEAGOON: Gad, you’re right. Mush! Mush!
BLOODNOK: Ooooo! It’s too cold in this van. I’m freezing. Forty degrees of frost.
SEAGOON: Yeah, it is a bit parkie isn’t it? I’ll get the temperature turned up. Eccles! Turn it up.
ECCLES: I ain’t done nothing. Oooo. Turn the thermometer up. Right.
GRAMS: Sudanese native drummers.
BLOODNOK: Ooh houhouhouhouhouho!
SEAGOON: The temperature’s up too high!
ECCLES: Ok. I’ll turn it down.
GRAMS: Timber wolves howling.
BLOODNOK: Too low! We’re being attacked by timber wolves.
ECCLES: I’ll throw ‘em some timber.
SEAGOON: You fool. Turn the temperature up again.
GRAMS: Native drummers
BLOODNOK: Too low -
GRAMS: Wind howling.
BLOODNOK: Too high -
GRAMS: Native drummers
BLOODNOK: (Developing a rhythm) Too low -
GRAMS: Wind howling.
BLOODNOK: Too high –
GRAMS: Native drummers
BLOODNOK: Too low -
ORCHESTRA: FOXTROT. SMALL COMBO with SAXOPHONE ON LEAD
GRAMS: Extensive explosion strength 7
GREENSLADE: There was an accident this morning at the crossroads, High Street Addis Ababa. A lorry with a blazing British Embassy on the back was in collision with a cold storage van containing twenty-three sunburnt and frost bitten men. Would anyone who witnessed it please contact…
ORCHESTRA: PLAYOUT
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 programme produced by Charles Chilton.

TRANSCRIPTION: Yukka Tukka Indians 2005 With many thanks to the generous contributions of many other members of the GSD site.

Last edited by yukka tukka indians on 7th Feb, 2005 08:46; edited 13 times in total