From alt.fan.goons Tue Oct 4 01:02:55 1994
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From: pdh@ecs.soton.ac.uk (Peter Harris)
Newsgroups: alt.fan.goons
Subject: Script: The Chinese Legs
Date: 3 Oct 1994 17:23:58 GMT
Organization: Electronics and Computer Science, University of Southampton
Lines: 916
Message-ID: <36pene$4gu@bright.ecs.soton.ac.uk>
NNTP-Posting-Host: diana.ecs.soton.ac.uk
Summary: The Chinese Legs
Keywords: script
Well, this is my first attempt at a transcription.
Please Email any corrections, comments, abuse, Lurgi, unsigned
sockfuls of grit etc. I will ftp it to a certain place in about
a weeks time. It's not 100%, I simply couldn't make it out in a
few places, indicated by (????).
Dare I say it ?
Enjoy ?
The Chinese Legs
Greenslade:
This is the BBC. Now a moment of musical twittering.
Grams:
Very strange music, Church organ and whistling with chicken
clucking. Speeds up and down.
Spike: (posh)
Ladies and Gentlemen, presenting the Reverend John Sellers.
Peter: (American Evangelist)
My friends ! Friends and fronds. Will you all, open your bank-
books and sing with me, bank statement number three-four-nine.
Grams:
People wailing
Peter:
It is, written in red friends, thou shalt not overdraw !
(gibberish) There is a new word ! A new word of hope ! And the
word is....
Spike: (quietly)
Fon.
Peter:
Yes, "Fon", this word "Fon" was invented by Mr. Tom Danglers of
Kwotts.
Secombe: (twit)
Yes, for many years now I have felt the need of a new word in our
language. For day and nights I lay awake thinking, then,
suddenly, in a blinding flash of inspiration I think this word
"Fon". So up I got, and wrote it down. It did look good, even in
the dark. In the light of morning it was still there and I knew
the word "Fon" was here to stay. I am very well pleased with it.
Thank you, and ta.
Peter:
Thank you, and now my dear friends, Mr. Nulers Quornhunt will now
lead you all in saying "Fon".
Spike:
After me now please (clears throat), "Fo-o-on".
Orchestra and Omnes:
Fo-o-on.
(Call and response sequence of Spike and Orchestra singing "Fon")
Spike:
Oh, we're having Fon tonight folks. And now, brethren, over to
Tom "Motorcars" Sellers.
Peter:
Ah-ha-ha, I'm finished with cars you know, they're silly things
(gibbers), I'm down to one motor-car a week folks and those are
in tablet form, I've given them up !
Grams:
Car speeds off, over..
Peter:
Come back ! Come back here that car !
Jim Spriggs:
It's true folks but wait ! What is this approaching ?
Peter:
It's the unexpired portion of a human body, on an African safari
called Martin Clod.
Grams:
African tribal drums and singing.
Neddie Seagoon:
Stop !
Ray Ellington:
(long drawn-out African-sounding gibberish)
Seagoon:
I see. (pause for laughter)
Carstairs ! Tell him I don't understand what he is saying.
Spike:
Right. (more African gibberish as if in translation)
Ellington:
(More African gibberish, shouted)
Spike:
He says, he says, he doesn't understand what he's saying either.
Seagoon:
It's near enough for jazz.
Peter:
Wait a moment, wait one moment. Lift up your shirt
Grams:
Ripping noise plus a Secombe "Whoops !" speeded up.
Peter:
Just as I thought ! You're three men called Harry Secombe !
Orchestra:
Very tatty last few bars of "I'm Just Wild About Harry"
Grams:
Wild applause.
Spriggs:
Oh, he's not as popular as he used to be, folks.
Seagoon:
Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat ? (unintelligible plus clucking) I'm still
top of the tree !
FX:
Tree crashing down over..
Spike:
Timber !
Secombe:
Meanwhile....
Grytpype-Thynne:
You're Doctor Livingstone, I presume.
Seagoon:
Yes, that's it ! I'm Doctor Livingstone I presume, spelt...
Grams:
Secombe singing "L-I-V-I-N-G-S-T-O-N-E" in varying notes, speeded
up.
Greenslade:
Ta. Ladies and Gentlemen, we present "The Labour-Exchange of the
Air". If you look in your Radio Times, you will see, with the aid
of a powerful magnifying-glass, the name "Goon Show". Let it be
so.
Grams:
Riotous applause.
Bluebottle:
'Ray !
Grams:
Riotous applause
Bluebottle:
Hooray !
Grams:
Riotous applause.
Bluebottle:
Hooray !
FX:
Plop
Bluebottle:
E-heu !
Seagoon:
Right in the old credentials ! Part one. A de-controlled coal-
sack in the Hebrides.
Grytpype-Thynne:
A Happy New McYear Moriarty.
Moriarty:
You said that last year !
Grytpype-Thynne:
This is an encore, do you hear me ?
Moriarty:
(Gibbers)
Grytpype-Thynne:
To think we're two hundredweight of anthracite. What a perfect
disguise for us, Moriarty.
Moriarty:
Two hundredweight yes, but you only let me be four ounces.
Grytpype-Thynne:
I thought of the idea, I deserve the lion's share.
Moriarty:
I didn't know lions shared anthracite, Grytpype ?
Grytpype-Thynne:
How do you think they keep warm, all the winter ?
Grams:
Bagpipes playing with Sellers' silly Scots singing, coming up to
speed. Over following.
Grytpype-Thynne:
Hark, Moriarty, a merry hogmanay singer ! Open la fenestre.
FX:
Window opening.
Grytpype-Thynne: (shouts)
Here lad !
FX:
Crash, terrible screams.
Grytpype-Thynne:
Right in the haggis ! (screaming fades away)
Moriarty ? I can hear a twit in part two, who is two parts twit.
Grams:
Choir singing "We'll keep a welcome in the hillsides" speeding
up. Over following.
Secombe:
(tries to sing along, ends up screeching, gives up)
Ah, Wales ! Land of my forefathers and Moby Dick. (several
???????s) (sings) and a partridge in a pear-tree. Fertannng!
Orchestra and Omnes:
Fertannng ! (at random)
Seagoon:
Ah, Wales, land of song, land of the certain things. A good job
we (??????) England before they spotted it !
Grytpype:
I recognise those reeking, lethal brandy fumes. It's Ned of
Wales. Ring ring tring !
Seagoon:
Ah ha ha ! It's the flesh-coloured telephone. Hello ring ring
tring !
Moriarty:
Hello, hello Neddy of Wales, hello there Neddy of Wales, there's
somebody here'd like to talk to you.
Seagoon:
Who ?
Moriarty:
Me ! Ha-ha !
FX:
Ripping.
Moriarty:
Owwww !
Grytpype-Thynne:
Right in the old credentials again !
Moriarty:
You swine !
Grytpype:
Hello, Niddy of Wools, he meant me, Ned, not him him but me me.
Seagoon:
Mimi darling, you sound as young as ever ! So the operation was
a success ?
Grytpype:
You naughty Neddy of wales ! Neddy, as your personal advisor, I
must advise you to see me at once, whichever you prefer.
Seagoon:
What ? Whatwhat what ? I-I-I-I don't quite understand ?
Grytpype:
Happy new hogmanay Ned, we've no time to waste, meet me outside
Buckingham Palace.
Seagoon:
Where's that ?
Grytpype:
Follow that sickening trail of OBE's, it'll take you straight
there. But first, a certain nose.
Max Geldray:
It's me folks ! Happy new nose folks ! Play that (????) Highgate
arrangement, Wally of Kensington. Ploogie !
Geldray And Orchestra:
musical break
Greenslade:
That was Mr. Max Geldray. I didn't think he looked well when he
started. Now, Wal of Weybridge announces Part 2. Thynne decides
to visit Ned of Wales. (sings) Wa-a-a-les !
Grytpype:
Taxi !
Grams:
Explosion.
Spike: (Indian)
Where to, Sir ?
Grytpype:
Are you the Prime Minister of England ?
Spike:
No Sir. My turn next week.
Grytpype:
Good. Well driver, run me to Wales.
Spike:
Hold my hand Sir.
Grams and FX:
Two running feet, fade into car driving away, piston aircraft,
coconut shells, steam train, motorcycle speeded up, more coconut
shells, jet aircraft passing, fade back into running feet slowing
down. Spike mutters Hindu encouragements throughout.
Grytpype:
(panting) Oh, there must be a shorter way.
Spike:
There is, but it doesn't take so long.
Seagoon:
Ahoy Grytpype ! Welcome to Wales !
Moriarty:
You're welcome to it too.
Seagoon:
Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat ? Take that !
FX:
Thud with chicken clucking.
Grytpype: (laughing)
Oh ! Such a fowl blow, Ned !
Moriarty:
How dare you hit me with that old joke ! You caught me unawares.
Seagoon:
I'll catch 'em again if I see 'em and all.
Moriarty:
Neddy, according to the records, they've discovered that you were
not born in Wales.
Seagoon:
Aaaa-aaa-aagh !
Grytpype:
Don't take it so badly.
Seagoon:
But I am Welsh I tell you. (sings) Sospan bach ! (speaks) I am
Welsh ! I was born at the Mumbles I tell you ! I've got coal in
my socks ! I can pronounce the name of that Welsh railway station
er, um, Cardiff ! There !
Orchestra:
Tatty chord, cymbal smash.
Seagoon:
That's a catchy tune ! Play it again !
Orchestra:
Tatty chord.
Seagoon:
Gad, they'll all be whistling it tomorrow.
Orchestra:
Whistles chord.
Seagoon:
It's tomorrow ! I must find out the true truth of my birth. Now
if I'm not Welsh, then what is my nitionolity ?
Grytpype:
Your nitionolity Ned, well you were born astride the Chinese-
British India border.
Seagoon:
This is terrible !
Grytpype:
I didn't write it.
Seagoon:
Which half of me is, is, is, is Chinese ?
Grytpype:
It's your legs, Ned. They were hanging over the border when you
were born.
Seagoon:
My dear legs ? Chinese ? I don't believe it !
Grytpype:
I'll give you my advice Ned, but first, sing this blank cheque.
Seagoon:
(sings) Ten Pounds.
Grytpype:
A little higher, Ned.
Seagoon:
(Sings, higher) Fifteen pounds ten !
Grytpype:
A little higher to give it timbre.
Seagoon:
(sings, higher) Twenty Pounds !
Grytpype: (eager)
Now, Ned, as high as you can sing !
Grams:
Secombe singing "One hundred pounds" speeded up.
Grytpype:
Splendid ! Now Ned, my advice to you is to get a passport for
those Chinese legs, you'll find they'll be interned. Until then,
Neddy, you must walk on your hands or you'll be guilty of legs.
Seagoon:
Right, (grunts) Hup !
FX:
Falling cutlery.
Moriarty:
Lets get these boots on your hands. Ned.
Seagoon:
Ow, Oooh (etc.). There ! How's that ?
Moriarty:
It suits you Neddy. Now, wait here, Ned.
FX:
Whoosh, whoosh.
FX:
Great Chinese gong.
Greenslade:
Part 2. In an attempt to solve the mystery of his legs'
nationality, Neddy Seagoon goes to the registrar of military leg
certificates on the British India frontier.
Orchestra:
Bloodnok theme into.
(complete silence)
Bloodnok:
I'm cured ! I'm cured ! Aeiough ! Oh ! Not a sound, oh I can go
to parties again ! Oh !
Ellington:
Er, pardon me Major.
Bloodnok:
What is it, Gladys ?
Ellington:
Er Chinese (????), there's a dinner tonight mate, and Lord and
Lady Hamilton are coming, what shall I lay out ?
Bloodnok:
You lay out Lord Hamilton and leave her to me will you ?
Oooh, the full treatment.
FX:
Knock on door.
Bloodnok:
Aeiough ! Ohoh ! The Police !
Ellington:
Major, there are other people.
Bloodnok:
Not in my life, no.
FX:
Knocking.
Bloodnok:
Come in, sound-effects man.
FX:
Door opens, pop.
Bloodnok:
Oh ! You too ?
Eccles:
Me two ? there's only one of me.
Bloodnok:
And the world is grateful. What is your name ? What's your name
?
Eccles:
Um, oh um, got it on a bit of, er, oh ! Eccles !
Bloodnok:
What name ?
Eccles:
I forget now, I got a bad memory. I got a letter for you in my
boot.
Bloodnok:
Ah, a foot-note. But wait.
Eccles:
Wait ?
Bloodnok:
Wait, what have you got in that crate on your head ?
Eccles:
You noticed it den ? I got fifty statues of Jayne Mansfield
inside.
Bloodnok:
What ? Oh, I mean oh, but but whatever for ?
Eccles:
Well, you never know, one day some smart-aleck might say to me
"I suppose you've got fifty statues of Jayne Mansfield in that
crate" and I'll say "yes I have" and he's gonna look pretty
stupid ahahaha !
Bloodnok:
Gladys, out with your arrangement and quill him with a tune of
mells.
Ellington:
Oh dear, dear, dear, I don't know what's coming next I don't.
Ray Ellington Quartet:
Musical interlude.
Greenslade:
That was Mrs. Gladys Ellington, the famous Irish tenor.
Jim Spriggs:
We now come to part 3, pum-tiddley-pom (silly humming), in which
we find (more silly humming) the orchestra missing. Ching !
Seagoon:
I walked in on (????) on my hands for three years, and no sign
of Grytpype-Thynne and the promised passport. Ah-ho-ho. So I
decided to visit the registrar of births in India to find out my
true position.
Bloodnok:
Upside-down.
Seagoon:
Major ! I've just arrived by first-class brown paper parcel.
Bloodnok:
Save the string, lad. I have a Grandma who's never seen a piece,
(sings) that old stringless Grandma, of mi-i-ine.
Seagoon:
Have you a record of my birth ?
Bloodnok:
Yes.
Grams:
Old scratchy recording of baby crying.
Seagoon:
Beautiful, sits down.
Bloodnok:
Not standing on your hands, Ned, the other way round.
Seagoon:
Right. Ah, that's better. Now.
Jim Spriggs:
Hands up Jim, hands up Je-ee-em. I arrest those Chinese legs for
standing on British ground !
Bloodnok:
It's the British leg-police !
Seagoon:
I say, look here, what's this ?
FX:
Rattling chains.
Seagoon:
I can't walk around with these chains around my legs !
Jim Spriggs:
Those Chinese legs are prisoners of England. Your top half can
go free Jim. Free Jim, fre-e-e Jee--e-em.
Greenslade:
Meantime, in fiendish China.
Orchestra and FX:
Great Chinese gong, gabbling Chinese talking, occasional temple
block, creak, goes on and on.
Spike: (Chinese)
Oh boy ! It are fun, please slilence for your fliend, and mine,
Mao Tse Tung !
Omnes:
Tung ! Tung ! (more Chinese noises)
Secombe: (Chinese)
Thlank you fliends, I have blad nlews, we have disclovered that
there are one pair of Chinese legs, in plison, out thlere in
British India. We must clapture them and bling them black to
mother Chlina, land of free legs.
Omnes:
More Chinese noises.
Grytpype-Thynne:
Just a minute, John Chinaman, my friend and I can get those legs
back for a certain payment.
Secombe: (Chinese)
Hip-hip !
Omnes:
Hoolay !
FX:
Great Chinese gong. Chinese noises.
Grams and FX:
Silly piano playing (Sellars ?) occasional creak.
Greenslade:
That night under a Chinese noom, and an Indian sun, and a Catford
street-lamp, a raiding party, under Moriarty, crept up on Ned's
sleeping legs.
FX:
Snoring.
Seagoon:
Psst ! Bloodnok !
Bloodnok:
No I'm not. What ? Oh ! What is it darling ?
Seagoon:
There's, there's a hand on the end of my legs !
Bloodnok:
Strange, I've got feet on the end of mine.
Moriarty:
Stand up Neddy ! Put up those Chinese legs !
Seagoon:
Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat ?
FX:
Unscrewing, over following.
Seagoon:
I say, look here ! Stop unscrewing my legs at once ! Oh-hoho !
Moriarty:
Don't move Neddy, this finger is loaded with bones !
FX:
Whoosh, clank.
Seagoon:
My legs gone ! Gone and never called me mother !
Bloodnok:
Never mind lad. Here, get this pair of skates under you, now off
you go !
Grams:
Trundling, over Neddy shouting "I demand leg-justice !" speeding
up and away.
Greenslade:
The loss of his legs was brought to the notice of the United
Nations, who've always been at a loss.
FX:
Gavel banging, over.
Henry Crun:
Gentlemen ! Ah, that's got that nail in. Members, the um, errr
subject errr, is the question er....
Throat:
Wake up at the back there.
Crun:
...of errr, Seagoon's legs. Mnk grp.
Secombe: (Older than God)
(moans)...may I, errrrr,
FX:
Tired footsteps, over.
Secombe:
may I errrr, may I....
Crun:
What ? What ? What ?
Secombe:
...may I errr...
FX:
Thud of body hitting floor.
Secombe:
Ooooh !
Minnie Bannister:
Ooooh, tut-tut, he's dead Henry.
Crun:
What ? again ? Who is he ?
Bannister:
I don't know, oh wait, there's a label on his foot.
Crun:
What does it say, Min ?
Bannister:
"This is a foot"
Seagoon:
Never mind (???), what about my legs ?
Peter: (American)
As American representative and major shareholder in UNO, I decide
and suggest we send a marine task force of the American 6th
fleet, John Brown's body, the 5th amendment, Marilyn Monroe, new
wide-screen version of (????) colour, to attack communist China
and restore the status-quo of this man's legs for democracy.
(raving) Let us drop the Atom bomb, to save the Chinese and show
a tender shred of true love, Wall street and Time Magazine, those
are all things in America that we all hold precious. That
precious American quality called money !
Grams:
People wailing.
Greenslade:
Ta. Part four. The Great World War Three for Neddy's legs.
Grams:
War sounds, guns, bugles, battle cries etc.
John Snagge: (pre-recorded)
This is London calling in the Ba Be See. Undersea service report,
from the front. Today, American marines occupied the heights of
Neddy Seagoon's knees, and are attacking down his shins towards
the hairy ankle area. It is expected that by dawn, his feet will
be occupied by foot-soldiers. I myself will be in bed. Football.
Greek Wanderers three, Bolton, six hundred and seventy-six.
There was an accident at the corner of Bert street when a bicycle
knocked over a red lantern. Anybody seeing the accident, keep
quiet, as the driver was a policeman.
Willum Cobblers:
Well Ned mate, it looks like your legs will soon be your own
again mate. Them luvly little leggies.
Grams:
Explosion.
Seagoon:
Aaah ! The Chinese are shelling my knees !
Spike: (off)
(Chinese noises)
Seagoon:
Here comes a midget waving a dirty white flag ! I wonder what he
wants ?
Bluebottle:
You got any soap-powder mister ?
Seagoon:
No I haven't. We had the last for Christmas.
Bluebottle:
I am Lee Fong Blue, mysterious junior laundryman to the Chinese
army. (notices audience) Oh ! Ah ! Hello everybody ! Didn't see
you all dere, I did not see you all sittin' out dere, happy New
Year to you all. I made my New Year's Resolution, I'm giving up
string and cardboard.
Seagoon:
You ? A Finchley boy-scout doing laundry for the Chinese ?
Bluebottle:
Do not be fooled, Ned of Wales. Terry "cardboard" Bluebottle is
really in the pay of the Borough of Finchley and is working to
save your legs from the Chinese ratepayer.
Spike: (Chinese)
Hands up !
Seagoon:
Gad ! A (????) group of thin Chinese in long Mandarin underwear.
Spike:
Listen, Neddy of Wales, (Chinese ?????) we make your knees a
corporlal in the Chinese army.
Bloodnok:
No, no, no, don't let him dazzle you with promises of knee-power,
Ned. I'll make them English Sergeants.
Spike:
We'll make them Chinese Captains.
Bloodnok:
English Majors !
Spike:
Chinese Genelals !
Seagoon:
Any advance on Chinese Generals ?
Bloodnok:
British dustmen with OBE attachments !
Seagoon:
British dustmen going once ! Going twice !
Willum:
I object mate !
Seagoon:
Who are you ?
Willum;
I'm the dustman who's been going twice ! I don't want to go any
more mate, I tell yer.
Seagoon:
Blast ! Foiled by British dustmen. Now you Chinese devil ! Stand
by for the funny pay-off ! (grunts, heaves)
FX:
Moving furniture.
Spike:
No, not that ! The table ! The table ! Aaah the table !
Seagoon:
And that folks is how we turned the tables on the Chinese ! And
that's all, folks of the world from Ned of Wales !
FX:
Whoosh.
Orchestra:
"Old Comrades" play-out.
#
--
[] Peter Harris, Optoelectronics Network Supervisor, Southampton University []
"Sir, you will either die on the gallows or of the pox !"
"That, my Lord, depends on whether I embrace your principles or your mistress"
John Wilkes to The Earl of Sandwich, Parliament, November 1763