Seagoon's Return

Greenslade This is the BBC Home Service.

Grams (clink of coin in enamel mug)

Greenslade Thank you so much. Welcome to the highly esteemed Goon Show. Now, 

tonight’s story, Seagoon’s Return, is a torrid tale of greed, wanton expenditure, shame, humility and, yes, forgiveness, brought to you by your talking-type electric wireless, 

direct from your sideboard, via airwaves provided.

Grams (scene setting-music)

Seagoon What what what what what?

FX (loud knocking at the door, which continues)

Minnie Bannister Heeennnnnrrrryy! Hhhheennnnnrrrryyyyyy! There’s someone 

knocking at the door!

Henry Crun Mnn, mnn, must be the Prime Minister.

Minnie Mnn, Mnn, what did you say?

Crun Mnn, mnn, that must be the Prime Minister knocking at the door.

Minnie I can’t hear you.

Crun It must be all that knock-knock-knocking at the door.

Minnie (pause) Mnn, Mnn, what did you say?

Crun I said it must be all that knocking at the door.

Minnie I can’t hear you. Open the door, and perhaps the knocking will stop.

Crun I can’t hear you. Tell you what, I’ll open the door and perhaps the knocking will stop.

Minnie I can’t hear you because of all that knocking.

FX(much knob rattling, knocking stops, echo-creaking of hinges)

Crun What do you want?

Minnie I want you to stop all that knocking, buddy.

Crun It stopped when I opened the door.

Minnie No, don’t, whatever, you do, open the door.

Crun Why ever not?

Minnie We’ll all be murdered in our beds!

Crun But I’m not in bed, I’m opening the door. They’re not what they used to be – you can’t get the wood, you know. Ah! There seems to be a gentleman standing here, with knuckles red raw. Good evening. Are you the Prime Minister?

Seagoon No, but it’s probably just a matter of time. I have come on an important errand.

Crun Well, it’s at the top of the stairs. Don’t forget to put the lid down afterwards.

Seagoon Thank you, yes, perhaps later. Meanwhile, I have come to take my inheritance.

Bloodnok Now, then, what’s all this noise? Neddie, my boy, what are you doing out there?

Seagoon Knocking at the door.

Minnie Not any more, buddy.

Bloodnok Why were you knocking?

Seagoon Because the door was closed.

Bloodnok This boy’s no fool. And why, pray, were you knocking at this hour?

Seagoon Because earlier I was standing over yonder and I couldn’t reach the door 

from there. Needle nardle noo!

Bloodnok And what do you want?

Seagoon Well, first of all, I’d appreciate it you’d open the door…

Minnie …which we have…

Seagoon …so now, I have come for my inheritance.

Bloodnok Fair enough. What will you do with it?

Seagoon Put it in my handkerchief-type satchel and transport myself away by means 

of this sound effect…

FX (whoosh)

Seagoon … to Dissipation City!

Grams (laughter, piano music, glasses clinking)

Seagoon Listeners, it was rife – I say rife – with jollity and revelry. The men were 

handsome and some of the women were, to my eye, quite remarkable…

Throat Yes mate.

Seagoon …while the gambling and eating and drinking went on well into the night. There were dancing girls, including Sabrina.

Grytpype-Thynnne No, no, it’s just me, with my arms folded. Concentrate on the poker. Now, then, I’ll see your marshmallow trouser press and raise you… a clockwork encyclopedia. Have a gorilla.

Seagoon No thanks, they hurt my throat. I’ll see your encyclopedia and raise you three – yes, three – steam-driven pencils.         

Grytpype-Thynnne H’mm. I’ll raise you this photograph of a five rupee note. 

(aside) What a Charlie…

Seagoon (aside) Haha! Listeners, I’ve got him right where I want him. (aloud, clears throat) Now, I’ll see your photograph and raise you a quarter past three on a damp Tuesday. 

What do you say to that, h’mm?

Grytpype-Thynnne You silly twisted boy. You will never beat me! I have five aces and two jokers.

Seagoon Rats! I’ve only got Kamchatka, Get Out of Jail Free and Mrs Bunn 

the Baker’s Wife. Argh! Penniless!

Grytpype-Thynnne Ace of clubs, hearts, spades and diamonds, plus Knave of Cups 

and the lead piping. I win! And now, something yet more grim.

                      

Max Geldray & Orchestra Pennies from Heaven

                      

Grams (‘back to the story’-type chords)

Seagoon The news was even worse than I could have imagined, folks. It was a national famine. I looked for a job and found one in a pigsty, tending hogs. I was at my lowest ebb, penniless, looking after porkers and all alone in the world, or so I thought.

Eccles (sings) I talk to the trees.

Seagoon The singer was a ragged idiot.

Eccles Hallo shipmate!

Seagoon Have you seen what these pigs are eating?

Eccles Yes, but only when I’m watching.

Seagoon And what do you think?

Eccles I think I talk to the trees.

Seagoon He stood three foot nineteen in his socks, and very nearly half that 

in the dark. What do you think of the food they feed those pigs?

Eccles It’s a disgrace.

Seagoon This boy’s got some spirit!

Eccles It’s a disgrace that they are getting better food than we are.

Seagoon It was undeniable. The pigs had delicious-looking warty pods, mouldy 

offcuts, rotting stalks and woody bits. We were in desperate danger of starvation, but 

only a complete fool would envy those pigs.

Eccles I wish I could eat what those pigs are having. Shut up, Eccles.

Grams (angelic choirs, etc speeded up, slowed down; about 20 seconds)

Seagoon What what what what what what? I could go home and eat all I want and 

work for my father and be a hired man since I’m no longer worthy to be a son. It’s true. 

I’m off!

FX (whoosh)

Eccles Everything’s going to be fine, fine.

Seagoon Except, of course, for this.

                      

Ray Ellington Quartet Mama’s Got One Bloodshot Eye

                      

Grams (‘back to the story’-type chords)

Seagoon Soon I was on the road home. Over this hill, down the track, round the corner, 

past the duckpond and beyond the next fencepost and then I shall be able to see my 

father’s farmhouse. I shall tell him I am no longer worthy to be called a son and ask 

to work as a hired hand. But what’s this? As I live and breathe, it’s my old dad, 

running out from the homestead to meet and greet me.

FX (running footsteps)

Bloodnok My son! Servant, come here.

Bluebottle Enter Bluebottle, waits for applause, as usual, not a sausage.

Bloodnok Servant!

Bluebottle My master, what is thy bidding?

Bloodnok Fetch some shoes and a robe.

Seagoon Boy, those servants ran busily, fetching shoes, a ring and a coat. 

After what seemed like forever, I was finally offered some food.

Bloodnok Kill the fatted calf!

Throat Yes, mate.

Greenslade And so, later, everyone had roast beef and fruit flan and wine and 

there was dancing and laughter and joyful celebrations.

Seagoon But even as I was tucking in to my dinner, I noticed Bluebottle dancing 

and prancing dangerously close to the edge of the duck pond. Suddenly…

FX (splosh)

Little Jim He’s fallen in the water!

Bluebottle You rotten swine, you deaded me!

Bloodnok My son was lost, but is found; he was dead but is alive!

Seagoon What what what what what what?

Grams (Theme music)
Greenslade That was the Goon Show, a BBC recorded programme featuring 

Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe and Spike Milligan with the Ray Ellington Quartet 

and Max Geldray. Script by Jesus of Nazareth, announcer Wallace Greenslade. 

Produced by Luke’s Gospel.

Bertie Wooster

a pale shadow of PG Wodehouse’s creation

‘Pater, may I speak frankly?’

‘Of course, Edward, my boy.’

‘What I have to say may wound you.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

‘Right–ho. Well, the dashed truth is that all this arable-land-husbandry shenanigans has become something of a yawn, don’t you know, and I’m of a mind to hang it all and slip away.’

‘Really?’

‘Quite so. Trouble is, I haven’t a single brass farthing to my name.’

‘Yes.’

We both remained silent. I was silent because I was trying to think of a way to phrase what I wanted to ask him, and Pater remained silent, I suppose, because there was nothing much I what I had said so far that required an answer.

Fortunately, at that moment, Neeves, the hired man, oiled into the room like a decanter on castors, bearing a silver tray on which stood a pink gin with a black olive.

‘Ripping, Neeves,’ I said.

‘Sir.’

I sipped, and thus fortified, had another run-up at the Pater.

‘So you see, old thing, the question is one of funds.’

‘I do understand.’

‘And I lack.’

‘Yes.’

‘But you don’t.’

‘No.’

‘I’d love to explore together the possibility of some balance-redressing in this matter. What do you say?’

‘I think I would, almost certainly, have some comment to make, if I could be certain for a moment that of which you speak.’

‘So you’re not offended?’

‘Why, have you insulted me?’

‘Never, Pater, old thing!’

I took another sip and wondered how I could make it any clearer. Happily, Neeves came to the rescue, not for the first time.

‘I believe, sir,’ he explained with great patience, ‘what young Master Waster is attempting to communicate is that he wishes to procure from your not insubstantial  means some of the wherewithal to which he would be entitled should the very worst case scenario pertain, respiratory-system-impairment-wise.’

He really is quite heavy going at times, is Neeves. But somehow Pater latched on.

‘His inheritance?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘It is a most remarkable request, but I shall see what can be done. I shall call the bank first thing and require of them to make the necessary arrangements.’

‘Top hole!’ I interjected.

Next morning, I heard the tell-tale tink of the telephone as Pater got down to business, and was soon enjoying the hugely pleasing sensation of a well-stuffed wallet pressing firmly against my leg as it altered dramatically the line of the seams in my upper trouser. I bounded with grace over the courtyard and got myself down to town sharpish.

Maisy Jink-Pottle and Maureen Gussett (both rather easy on the eye, what?) were more than ready to aid and abet the dispersal of some of the small change, while K D’Orcy Jahlsberg Cheesehampton, Wexford Moreton-Symes and Pongo Frattleworth steeled themselves and embarked upon the more arduous job of turning bank notes of high calibre into so much pocket-fluff. We gambled, drank, consumed and spent long into the night for several weeks, and it took not long for me to find I was on my uppers. Not surprisingly, Pongo, Maisy, Jahlsberg, Wexford and Maureen all made themselves scarce.

‘What a rotten bit of luck,’ I thought, as the country was about to go into something of a decline, and it was almost necessary for me to become engaged by a pig-farmer. Fortunately, he had a vacancy in the book-keeping department, so at least I could stay indoors.

I sat at my tall accounting desk, staring blankly at the columns of figures and wondered what they all meant. I didn’t know what a Price Index (Global Strategy) was, and I was completely in the dark about what to do with the Purchase Order Delivery Sheets. I have to confess I thought about the ability to make purchases, and envied those able to consider prices.

Then something struck me with all the force of a tennis raquet swung exuberantly but injudiciously into a fellow’s fizzog. 

‘What about Neeves?’ I mused, humming to myself. ‘He butles his way noiselessly around the old pile and gets his dinner thrown in. I could trundle back to the House of Pater and see if he’ll set me among the greenhouses or cleaning the stables, or what-not.’ It was a wizard wheeze, so off I trotted.

It was a fair old step, and, to tell the truth, I was ready for a cooling snifter and a slice of Madeira cake by the time I got within hailing distance. I’d had the chance to concoct a plausible greeting, which was along the lines of Pater, old thing, sadly the funds have dwindled somehow and so I’ll need to shove a lawnmower about from time to time in exchange for someone rustling up a bit of lunch, and you’ll want to sharpen your pencil and replenish the back pocket, what? It was bound to work.

However, as I got within sight (still a long way off) I saw Pater come – well, running. You could have floored me with an individual component of a starling’s plumage. I waited for him and prepared myself to render my speech.

But chance had I none.

‘Edward! You are far from… and you’re not… but we all thought… yet it’s not true…!’ He couldn’t have been more obtuse if he been attempting to fib. But he was abjectly failing to disguise his pleasure at seeing me, even though my clothes were in a state, not to mention the dreadfully unpolished and scuffed condition of the old loafers, don’t you know?

Neeves arrived soon afterwards, but Pater sent him straight back to the pile with a list of duties. ‘Fetch a coat, and bring my family jewellery box. There’s a ring in there I want to give him. Oh, and you could bring a tin of Cherry Blossom and give his footwear a bit of a buffing.’

‘Yes, sir. May I say, it is most satisfactory to see young Mister Waster again, sir?’

‘Yes, yes, never mind all that gushing, Neeves. What’s important now is that Mrs Bridges below stairs hears about it, and sets to with the roast beef. Tell her we have one-hundred and fifty for dinner tonight!’

‘One hundred and fifty, sir?’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘It may be necessary for her to send for some additional gravy browning, sir, as I know she opened the last tin only on Wednesday.’ Neeves misses the point once again.

‘So be it.’

And thus it was that later on, crowds of locals bustled their way around the groaning high table in the ballroom, quaffing & digesting at a rate of knots. Pater asked Neeves to call for quiet, so that he could address them with a few words he considered well-chosen.

‘My Lords, ladies and gentlemen, pray silence for the Earl of Blandings.’ The chatter and rattle subsided respectfully.

‘We all thought my son Edward had curled his toes. But it was not so. Yes, he’d drifted off, but now he’s here, don’t you know, healthy, clothed and in his right mind. Raise your glasses!’ They were not in the least bit well-chosen, after all.

Neeves smiled quietly to himself.

Lost in Austen

many references to Pride & Prejudice

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must have expressed his want to his father.

Far from vexing his son, he had compassion upon his request, and the lad left in a chaise and four. He was quite young, wonderfully handsome, and in part, extremely agreeable, yet in part, one of the silliest boys in the country.

He met five sisters in whom there was little beauty and no fashion, dear reader, yet he kept a pack of foxhounds, and drank a bottle of wine each day. His composure at that time convinced everyone that he was safe, and his wit flowed long. He had never met with so much attention in the whole course of his life; yet he would by no means suspend any pleasure. Such perseverance in wilful self-deception!

Sad to say, his cash was gone withal; sadder still, famine struck without prejudice.

The lad sat among five pigs, envying that they ate freely. He found he could not solace his wretchedness; one might guess the subject of his reverie.

He came to his senses, and realised his father’s hired men ate well, so he decided to lay down his pride, to return and to ask for employment; he was no longer worthy to be called son. The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would return to his father’s farm, and determining if he would consume the pigs’ dinner.

While he was still a long way off, his father saw him approach on foot; he then ran gaily off, rejoicing, as he rambled about, in the hope of being at home again in a day or two. The boy was welcomed home very cordially by his father, who rang the bell to call for Hill, one of the servants. ‘Quick sharp, now! Fetch a coat, shoes, and kill the fatted calf – yes, the LongHourne. Invite the villagers, and let there be dancing in the ballroom!’ And he gave him a fine gold ring.

Happy for all his paternal feelings was that day. ‘I bare my young son no ill will, and do not resent his behaviour as any affront. We thought him dead, but he is alive. I wish him joy.’

And what ensued? I leave it to yourself to determine.

Catcechism

question and answer, Westminster Confession style

Q What is the chief end of man?

A To inherit early and spend it all, apparently.

Q What disaster occurred once all the money was gone?

A The land was struck by a famine.

Q What strange thoughts tortured the young man?

A I am hungry enough to eat the pig’s pods.

Q Did he come to his senses?

A Oh, yes.

Q To take what course of action did he decide?

A To arise, go home and ask to work there.

Q Did he reckon he was worthy to be called a son?

A Oh, no.

Q How far away was the son when his dad began to run?

A A long way off.

Q With what gifts did his father shower him?

A With kisses, a coat, shoes, a ring and a fatted calf.

Q What errors did the father make about the son?

A Thought him dead or lost when he was alive and found.

Deck of cards

original 1948 release by T Texas Tyler, popularised in the US by Wink Martindale (1959) and in the UK by Max Bygraves (1973)

A soldier was explaining to his Sergeant why he’d brought a pack of cards to church parade, when other men had Bibles or prayer books.

‘You see, Sergeant, this pack of cards is all I need to know the story of the lost son.’

‘Explain yourself, soldier, or you’ll be on a charge.’

‘Well, the Ace reminds me that there was just one father who let his son go and waited for him to return.

‘The deuce stands for the two brothers; one apparently faithful, but driven by legalism; the other foolish and wanton, but repentant and humble.

‘When I see the trey, it speaks of the pigs in the sty, eating their pods, which the boy envied.

‘The four makes me consider the gifts the boy received: a coat, a ring and two sandals.

‘The five is a card that reminds me of the elements of the way he lived, with parties, gambling, drinking, feasting and wasting.

‘Now, then, the six speaks of the great distance the boy travelled to Dissipation City; it was six days’ journey from his farm to the casino.

‘And the seven is a reminder of the number of gold coins the father gave to the boy right at the start, which he spent in abandon.

‘The eight jogs my memory of the boy coming to his senses, as he considered how his father’s men ate well while he was starving.

‘The nine represents the hours it took to roast the fatted calf upon a spit, in celebration that the boy was no longer lost nor dead, but found and alive.

‘Now, the ten is a wonderfully rich and powerful aide-mémoire, Sergeant. A tense boy with extensive potential hastened to bartenders and attentive ostentatious women (verboten); later was discontent he’d eaten the rotten pigfood. Gains enlightenment from the omnipotent One; he’s penitent, softening his heart; chastened, tentatively asks his dad for tenure; but he doesn’t listen, and gives him calf that’s fattened & tenderised.

‘Jack, to be frank, behaved like a knave.

‘The Queen is the hotel and casino where the boy stayed.

‘The King reminds me of the King of kings, the Lord Jesus himself, who told this parable.

 ‘The thirteen tricks speak of the days the boy took to return home, since he was starving and exhausted.

‘There are three hundred and sixty five pips on these cards, Sergeant, and they remind me that God loves each of us every day of the year, no matter what we are doing, and he longs for us to return to him.

‘And there are four suits, and each of them speaks to me: Clubs are where the boy partied; Diamonds he gave to those wanton women; Spades are what he used to till the soil when he returned to his father’s house; and Hearts represent the father’s love for his son.

‘Perhaps best of all is that there are fifty two cards in this pack, and that reminds me of how to find the passage when I do have a Bible or New Testament with me, Sergeant; for the passage is found in the third gospel, in chapter fifteen, from verses eleven to twenty-three, and when I add up those numbers, it comes to fifty two.

‘So, you see, Sergeant, this pack of cards reminds me of the story of the Lost Son, and how welcome he was when he repented, humbled himself and returned to his father’s house.’

And the Sergeant turned away with a tear in his eye.

I know, for I was that Sergeant.