Goon Show Script

The Silver Dubloons

Series 10, Episode 5

First broadcast on January 21, 1960. Script by Spike Milligan. Produced by John Browell. Transcribed by Debby Stark


This episode is available on...

Vol. 29: We're In The Wrong House Again!

[CD from Amazon]
[Download from Audible]



Milligan:
Anyone want to jump, folks?

Eccles:
[garbled] Aouh!

Seacombe:
[laughs]

Greenslade:
This is the BBC, and the color is cream.

Secombe:
Ah, yes, Wal, the modern cream BBC! I remember the old days when it was brown.

Sellers:
Brown!

Omnes:
Brown! Brown! Brown ...

Greenslade:
Yes, the old brown BBC! Happy days...

Sellers:
Brown is better, it doesn't show the dirt.

Secombe:
Not in this show it doesn't, mate! [laughs] Back to your car, Sellers!

Sellers:
I say... Vroooom!

FX:
[Car sounds, honking]

Secombe:
And now folks of the world, here with a special goatskin microphone announcement, [gibberish]...

Greenslade:
Ladies and gentlemen...

Secombe:
[inaudible]

Greenslade:
...the brown BBC presents the Son of Fun, that old Welsh favorite: Ned, the Seagoon.

FX:
[cheering, singing]

Seagoon:
Stop! Stop!

FX:
[stops immediately]

Seagoon:
Thank you, fellow Welshmen.

Milligan:
Hello, Ned of Wales!

Segoon:
It's Milligan of Poona!

Milligan:
Ned of Wales, how's that old Welsh marriage? [inaudible]

Seagoon:
Me and the little woman are very happy, indeed. Aren't we, love?

Little Woman:
[fast voice] My darling,... [inaudible]

Milligan:
Tell me, what's the little woman's name?

Seagoon:
Ha ha! Hey, I call her simply...

FX:
[whistle and pop]

Spriggs:
What a tune that would make!

FX:
[horn plays pop goes the weasle]

Spriggs:
[inaudible] next dance please?

Seagoon:
[inaudible]

Voice:
Next dance, please.

Omnes:
[inaudible]

Greenslade:
[coming up under the gabbling] Desist this frivolous bandinage! Stop, I say, halt! Hold hard! Withhold, decease!

Seagoon:
Put your head on this anvil!

FX:
[Hammer hits metal.]

Greenslade:
Ahhowww!

Seagoon:
There we are. Let's see your old nut. Good havens, yes! Lumps suit you!

Sellers:
Yes, lumps. Ladies, do your husbands come home late? Then use...

FX:
[Hammer hits metal. High-pitched scream.]

Sellers:
l...umps. Next time you're at your ironmonger, just open your mouth and say... "Lumps."

Charlie (Seacombe):
Yes, I'm grateful to lumps. I had a hat that came down over my eyes, then one night my wife went...

FX:
[Hammer hits metal. High-pitched scream.]

Charlie:
Now, thanks to lumps, I have a clear view all the way round...

Greenslade:
Now, a word from our sponsor.

Sellers:
Drawers!

Greenslade:
Next week, another word.

Thespian (Sellers):
Tonight... Tonight, by the magic of hack writing and worn cliches, we drag you have a half across an hour to [inaudible] down and [gibberish]. Introducing the new brown BBC [shade?], but let the author tell you in his words.

Milligan:
[gabbles]

Thespian:
Those were his own words. Ned of Wales, read the inscription on this crippled mango called flan.

Seagoon:
Hello folks of the world! Hello folks of the world! This is Ned of Wales calling! [laughs] Ned of Wales speaking in the new goatskin microphone, folks! The scene is Nineteen Hundred and Hun, a lonely Sussex fishing village Cornwall!

FX:
[music]

Rough Seaman:
[over-acted] [inaudible] Oh, the Brown Cave, we call it. Tis somewhere in the cliff sides, overlooking the sea, my little beauty, arr har! The old smuggler's cave is right there. On a dark night they do say a ghostly voice -- ghostly voice, arrr! [inaudible] the smell of ghostly cooking [laughs] [suddenly calm] Excuse me, I've got to get back to the Mermaid Theatre, you know.

FX:
[burbling music, under:]

Moriarty:
Quel delicious, quel delicious!

Grytpype-Thynne:
What is that excruciating brew you're sipping with that boot, Moriarty?

Moriarty:
Ohh! Taste! Taste!

FX:
[prolonged slurp]

Grytpype-Thynne:
Gad, what is it?

Moriarty:
Your laundry! It's Fata de la Socks Supreme!

Grytpype-Thynne:
Gad, we Engish have never had it so good! [sings] Hey, what's for afters?

Moriarty:
She hasn't arrived yet.

Seagoon:
[off] Hello! In the absence of the door -- knock knock!

Grytpype-Thynne:
In the absence of a footman, come in!

Moriarty:
In the absence of a roof, hold this umbrella!

Seagoon:
Thank you, lad! Or, if you're French, Yakamakakakoo!

Omnes:
[several variations on] Yakamakakakoo! Yakabakabo!

Grytpype-Thynne:
Wait, wait, wait. You're Neddy Seagoon, the famous size.

Seagoon:
All lies! All lies, I tell you! I'm slimming! My pot belly's nearly gone! I mean, look, I-I-I can still touch my toes!

FX:
[cloth ripping]

Seagoon:
Let me tell you who I am. [dramatic] Ladies and gentlemen, I am... Ned Seagoon! Seagoon the Elephant Man.

Grytpype-Thynne:
Ah, you... you train elephants?

Seagoon:
No, they just call me "Seagoon the Elephant Man." Watch this!

Moriarty:
Stand back.

FX:
[drum roll under:]

Seagoon:
[as an animal trainer in the circus] Hup hey! Hoo-ha, ha hey! Hup ha-ha hey! Hup hah hey! [etc]

Grytpype-Thynne:
Splendid, Neddy, I didn't know you played the drums! You see...

Moriarty:
Arrrggghhh...

Grytpype-Thynne:
...this mess of rag stooping over that fuming pot? None other than the great Moriarty, trapeeze artist extraordinaire.

Seagoon:
Him? A trapeeze artist?

Grytpype-Thynne:
Yes! Moriarty, sketch a trapeeze.

Moriarty:
No, no, I, I... I haven't got the time.

Grytpype-Thynne:
Half-past three.

Moriarty:
Thank you.

Seagoon:
Look, I only came here to borrow a shovel. A-hem, I heard that during the Armada, a Spanish galleon went down off Brown Cove and at low tide you can dig for silver Spanish dubloons.

Moriarty:
Silver? Ahhh! Silver!

Grams:
[overlapping recordings of Moriarty yelling "Silver! Ahhh!". Runs down and stops]

Grytpype-Thynne:
That was the new sterophonic Moriarty.

Seagoon:
Is he ill?

Grytpype-Thynne:
No, but for a fee it could be arranged. For £100 he will contract lurgy. At present the poor Count is suffering from the Irish Krut. Here is a report on his health.

Seagoon:
This is a bank overdaft the statement.

Grytpype-Thynne:
Yes, a terrible disease.

Seagoon:
What's the cure?

Grytpype-Thynne:
Alas, we've run short of the opiate that will restore the roses to his knees. All that can save him, I fear [aside] the groan, Moriarty.

Moriarity:
Aoww...

Grytpype-Thynne:
...His only hope is a fabled spoonful of silver dubloons, three times a day, forced down his unwilling wallet. I fear he'll be dead by sun up, I tell you.

Seagoon:
No, no, now, wait, wait, wait, wait, I, I can try!

Grytpype-Thynne:
Here, then, take this tax-free shovel inscribed Charlie and dig, Neddy. If you find a few dubloons then the ailing son of the Comte of France will give untold riches to the salvator.

Seagoon:
Yes, yes, yes, yes [laughs] I'll get a French OBE and a Parisian Lord Tavenor's tie. Don't worry, I'll get the dubloons!

FX:
[whooshes off]

Greenslade:
That traditional BBC whoosh terminates part 1. We will now unpack Mr. Max Geldray's nose and let him feel the full benefit of it.

FX:
[honk]

Voice:
Oh, boy, look! I've got that old Dutch conk! Am I going to have fun!

Max Geldray and Orchestra

[Musical interlude]

Greenslade:
Part Ongy. The Spanish Dubloons. Ole! By the way, that "ole" was my own idea, I'm not entirely without wit.

Seagoon:
Ah, oh! Oh folks! Whew! I've been digging up dubloons for three weeks to save the French prince. The weather was bitter cold and the snow lay three feet on my feet.

Greenslade:
Now a phone call in blue.

FX:
[ring]

Seagoon:
Ah, the old-fashioned hand-cranked sea-shell phone. Hello! Hello!

Grytpype-Thynne:
Hello, Ned of Wales, Thynne of Paris speaking. You've heard of Paris...

Seagoon:
What does it sound like?

FX:
[music]

Moriarty:
[sings gibberish over music]

Seagoon:
Sounds foreign to me.

Grytpype-Thynne:
It's a French phone, Neddy. Ned, we want you to send the next load of silver dubloons care of the Yumka Hotel, Paris.

Seagoon:
Yumka? How do you spell it?

Grytpype-Thynne:
Y-M-C-A

Seagoon:
Right. I must say I'm worn down to an 18-stone shadow by digging, you know.

Grytpype-Thynne:
[snarls] You ungrateful 18-stone shadow! [calm again] Ned, look... where do you live?

Seagoon:
The basement of Bloodnok's military flats.

Grytpype-Thynne:
Right. You go home and I'll arrange a holiday with tax-free legs and... certain things.

FX:
[Major-style music. Simplteon playing piano throughout following exchange.]

Bannister:
Henry? Henry!

Crun:
Dear, dear. What is it, Min?

Bannister:
Is that you playing the... pianola?

Crun:
No, Min, no...

Bannister:
[babbles] The piano, ah...

Crun:
It's not me, it's the piano tuner

Bannister:
Oh... Phew! What's that tune he's paying?

Crun:
Pardon me, Mr. Prune, what is that tune you're playing?

FX:
[piano stops, crackling, breaking noises start]

Piano Tuner (Uncle Oscar):
Ahooohahhoh?

Crun:
What is that tune?

Tuner:
Ahoooohah... The note of E flat...

Crun:
It's called the...

Bannister:
[inaudible] What's it called?

Crun:
It's called "The Note in E Flat," Min.

Bannister:
It'll never be a hit with that title.

FX:
[piano resumes]

Bannister:
Ah! Oh! Is that you, Henry?

Crun:
No, no...

Bannister:
Hey, [inaudible]

Crun:
What? What's that? That is the piano, Min.

Bannister:
Piano?

Crun:
It's got wool on to keep a tune warm.

Ninnie:
I thought our piano was stollen.

Crun:
What?

Bannister:
Stooooolen!

Crun:
It was, Min! [to piano tuner] Pardon me, sir, I don't want to worry you but we haven't a piano. You're probably supposed to be tuning the one next door.

Tuner:
Ahhh... I am next door.

Crun:
Min!

Bannister:
Aoooh! What?

Crun:
We're in the wrong house again! [to piano tuner] Sir, we had a piano like that stolen. What color's the keyboard?

Tuner:
Black and white.

Crun and Bannister:
It's ours! It's ours! Our piano! [babble] Aaaaaah, ting!

Greenslade:
Ta. Now, over to Bloodnock's room where the windows are never closed.

FX:
[bed sounds]

Bloodnok:
Oh, this bed! It's terrible!

Ellinga (Ellington):
Um, your breakfast, Major.

Bloodnok:
Breakfast? What year?

Ellinga:
The vintage, 53.

Bloodnok:
One of their finest years.

FX:
[door opens]

Blooknok:
Aaaaahoooh!

Seagoon:
Major Bloodnok! I saw a light in your window and a frown in the doorway, so I came in, glasses first.

Bloodnok:
Great news, Ned! Grytpype's paying you to go on holiday. Have you any warm clothes?

Seagoon:
No, but I can get some cold ones and put them in the oven.

Bloodnok:
Ah! Here are your tickets, lad.

Seagoon:
First class lift? Where am I going?

Bloodnok:
Up to the seventh floor, Ned, away from it all! You know, on a clear day you can see the clothes line opposite and Mrs Puge in the bath? [Laughs] Bye, Ned, bye. Elinga, go down and rifle his room with a rifle. Bye, lad.

Seagoon:
Gad, folks! Fancy a free trip to the 7th floor by first-class lift!

Upper-class Twit (Sellers):
Are you going far?

Seagoon:
7th floor.

Twit:
Oh. Penelope and I went there last year, didn't we, dear?

Penelope Twit (Milligan):
Yes, darling.

Twit:
Trouble is, it's full of people from the basement, wasn't it, dear?

Mrs. Twit:
Yes [inaudible]

Seagoon:
Is this the little woman?

Twit:
Yes, she's 2 foot 6.

Willium:
[announces floor inaudibly]

Twit:
[inaudible]

Willium:
...and all kinds of stewed fruits and mutton. Would you like a bit of stewed fruit and mutton?

Seagoon:
No, thank you, I brought my lunch, you know.

Twit:
[inaudible]

Willium:
[inaudible] Got your ticket right... Here, 'ang on. This ain't it, this ain't it... It says here your weight is 19 stones, 3 pounds!

Seagoon:
Give me that! It's all lies, I tell you! I'm slimming, I tell you! I've never been so light!

FX:
[elevator falls]

Willium:
Ground floor again...

Seagoon:
It wasn't [inaudible], I tell you! I'm as light as a feather!

FX:
[crashing sounds]

Seagoon:
Aaaaah!

Bloodnok:
Neddy! Welcome back to your old basement! Have a nice time? Did you have nice weather or haven't you washed? For the second part of your holiday... Ellington? Fire us up a coach and four and take Mr. Seagoon's parcel, in two!

Ellington:
[inaudible] Hey-oh, Silver [inaudible]

Seagoon:
Along the King's Highway we rumbled, our ducks at a full gallop. It was mid-January and, for the sake of the story, the coach was full of me and Ray Ellington.

Ray Ellington Quartet:
[Musical interlude]

Bluebottle:
Thank you. For my next impression...

FX:
[splosh on face]

Bluebottle:
Aieeee!

Greenslade:
Now, The Spanish Dubloons, part the hair. The stage coach.

Ellington:
Gee-up! Whooooooaaaaa! Fat [inaudible]

Seagoon:
What's the matter, driver? Why have we stopped?

Ellington:
One of the horses got a puncture.

Seagoon:
Which one?

Eccles:
Me.

Seagoon:
What are you doing as a horse?

Eccles:
I've gotta make a living, too.

Seagoon:
But you look frozen!

Eccles:
I'm an ice-Eccles [laughs]. Okay, you win folks. I like doing impressions of horses. That's my hobby.

Bluebottle:
Yeah, he's a hobby horse, hee-hee!

FX:
[splosh again]

Eccles:
Oh, exactly right [inaudible]

Bluebottle:
I never said nothing...

Eccles:
Oh...

Seagoon:
Look! Over there in Part 3! An old manor! I wonder who lives in it?

FX:
[scary old manor-type music & screams]

Dyall:
A-ha! There is a coach from Part 2 stopped outside.

FX:
[owl hoots once]

Dyall:
Hark! The hoot of an owl. She only gives one. Obviously she doesn't give two hoots! Ha ha ha!

Grams:
[diabolical laughter]

Dyall:
Ah ha ha! They don't write tunes like that anymore!

FX:
[door bell]

Dyall:
Open the door!

Servant:
All right, sir...

FX:
[Door approached and broken open laboriously]

Dyall:
You forgot the key, didn't you?

Seagoon:
Ah! Good evening!

Dyall:
You ought to know, you're outside.

Seagoon:
You're inside, in the warm.

Dyall:
It seems a pretty healthy arrangement. Here's half a nicker.

Seagoon:
Gad, a wooden leg!

Bluebottle:
I don't like this man...

Seagoon:
I don't like him, either.

Eccles:
I don't like him, too.

Dyall:
How do you think I feel!? I happen to be him!

Seagoon:
Look here, our story has broken dowm and we're stuck for lodgings.

Dyall:
You certainly are. What you want, bed and breakfast?

Seagoon:
Yes, please.

Dyall:
I'll leave it outside. In the garden.

Seagoon:
Can we have shelter?

Dyall:
Very well, come in. Wipe your feet -- and your boots!

Eccles:
[inaudible] Hello.

Dyall:
[sotto voce] Gad, what a beautiful woman!

Eccles:
Get away from me, you naughty man!

Dyall:
You're the living image of my first, second, third, fourth and fifth wives!

Eccles:
Yer... I do impressions.

Dyall:
Ha-ha! You joking devil...

Eccles:
[laughs as though tickled].

Dyall:
Come, let's all sit round the fire! My name is Count Valentine Dyall. I have one boy.

Eccles:
That must be your son-Dyall! [laughs]

Bluebottle:
Well done, Eccles! You're toppng them all away! Hooray for [gerkins?].

Eccles:
[gerkins?]?

Dyall:
Yes, my son-Dyall's a strange boy. He spends all his life collecting the silver milk bottle tops. Sacks of them. He takes them away, heaven knows where, and buries them.

Seagoon:
There goes the plot, folks!

Dyall:
For years he lived in South America on safari. For months he was trapped in the Amazon!

Seagoon:
Couldn't he get the door open?

Dyall:
No! He was collecting rare South American pianos for the zoo. This one is stuffed! Let me... let me let you hear the exotic, stuffed beauty of it.

FX:
[muted piano plays Moonlight Sonata as Dyall sings diabolically]

Dyall:
There, that mellow, exotic, delicate, beautifully played Peruvian melody. I composed it especially for myself.

Seagoon:
What do you call it?

Dyall:
I call it... "Fred"! [manic laugh, under:]

Seagoon:
Suddenly, Count Dyall's face took on a maniacal aspect. He advanced on us, laughing insanely. Look out! He's got a knife! Eccles!

Bluebottle:
And a fork!

Eccles:
And a spoon!

Bluebottle:
He's going to eat you, Neddy!

Seagoon:
What? I'm off!

Dyall:
And so, folks, because Neddy was off, I didn't eat him.

Bloodnok:
Don't you worry, folks, better pay offs are being arranged at this very moment.

Greenslade:
This story started with silver dubloons. Let us join Thynne as he dines at the Hotel Splendide...

FX:
[Pigs at trough, ballroom music]

Grytpype-Thynne:
Mmm! An excellent meal, Moriarty.

Moriarty:
Why do you keep me chained under the table?

Grytpype-Thynne:
Waiter, the bill.

Waiter (Greenslade):
Oui, monsier. It is 10,000 francs in French.

Grytpype-Thynne:
Will these silver Spanish dubloons suffice?

FX:
[Pours out bag full]

Waiter:
These are milk bottle tops.

Grytpype-Thynne:
Curse! Foiled by filk mottle bops!

Orchstra:
[Ta daaaah chord]

Greenslade:
There now, folks. That didn't hurt, did it? Incidently, I played the part of the French waiter. Good night.

Orchestra:
[end music; no end credits]