What do you think?
Rate this book
More Goon Show Scripts
In this second collection of Goon Show scripts, Spike Milligan has made his selection from the shows broadcast between December 1958 and February 1959. He has included such legendary performances as Ned's Atomic Dustbin, Battle of Spion Kop, The Tay Bridge Disaster and The Gold-plate Robbery.
Paperback
First published January 1, 1973
39 people want to read
About the author
Spike Milligan
285 books298 followersTerence Alan Patrick Seán Milligan, known as Spike, was a comedian, writer and musician. He was of Irish descent, but spent most of his childhood in India and lived most of his later life in England, moving to Australia after retirement. He is famous for his work in The Goon Show, children's poetry and a series of comical autobiographical novels about his experiences serving in the British Army in WWII. Spike Milligan suffered from bipolar disorder, which led to depression and frequent breakdowns, but he will be remembered as a comic genius. His tombstone reads 'I told you I was ill' in Gaelic.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
April 19, 2012
The Sydney Harbour Bridge Disaster
DJ Ian: This is the BBC Foreign Service, tiddey pong, mate...How did that sound?
Seagoon: Hold the script up to the light – no, not a brain in sight.
DJ Ian: This is DJ Ian broadcasting from Sydney on a beautiful morning at the start of the Sydney Festival. Today my guests are the members of the world renowned, but poorly renumerated, Goon Show. A healthy Sydney welcome to the Goons.
Seagoon: Thank you. I think you mean "remunerated".
DJ Ian: It is 2012, and dead on time, the Sydney Harbour is a hive of inactivity, as English immigrants bring their shattered bank accounts to the New World.
Seagoon: Which reminds me, we were told we would be paid a pretty penny for this interview.
DJ Ian: I’m sorry, I haven’t got a pretty penny.
Bluebottle: Well, two ugly ones will do then.
DJ Ian: Here, but can I have a receipt for them?
FX: SCRIBBLE, SCRIBBLE.
DJ Ian: What’s this? Maureen Shag? That’s not your name?
Seagoon: No, that’s the name of my signature.
DJ Ian: When did you arrive?
Seagoon: At dawn, under cover of daylight ,we took up our positions with our teeth blacked out.
DJ Ian: What’s it like for the Goons to be sitting on the foreshores of Sydney Harbour, sipping champagne and orange juice?
Bluebottle: What foreshores? I can only see two.
DJ Ian: What do you think of the Park Hyatt Sydney? You’re the first guests to stay here since the renovations were finished. Do you like the Harbour views?
Seagoon: When we arrived the curtains were drawn.
Bluebottle: No, they were real. I swear.
Moriarty: I don’t like the look of it.
Bluebottle: We can’t change it now, it’s the only one we’ve got.
Eccles: I had one two, but the wheels came off.
Seagoon: Well, we can’t stand around here doing nothing, people will think we’re workmen.
DJ Ian: You’re not actually appearing in the Festival. What is the real purpose of your visit?
Bloodnok: They’re going to build a Sydney Harbour Bridge.
DJ Ian: We’ve already got one, right over our heads.
Bloodnok: They’re going to build another one.
DJ Ian: Where?
Bloodnok: Right next to this one. Parallel in fact.
DJ Ian: So how are the Goons involved?
Bloodnok: We’re going to draw the prizewinner in the design competition.
FX: TERRIBLE MASS CROWDS BRAWL. SMASHING GLASS, SCREAMS, DISTANT BAGPIPE AT SPEED
Seagoon: Hear that? Celtic versus Rangers.
Ken: In our midst if not sooner, rode two men wearing nude clothes. On a unicycle they were. Their bodies driven by legs and their legs driven by feet.
DJ Ian: Those cyclists look like protesters of some sort.
Bloodnok: Go away, or I’ll take my wig off…We’ll have to bring forward the announcement of the winner before they recognise us.
Seagoon: They look like the enemy.
Jympton: Ah, intelligence has established that the people attacking us are in fact the enemy.
Bloodnok: So that’s their fiendish game, is it?
Seagoon: Gentlemen, do the enemy realise that you have this information?
Bloodnok: Oh no, we got ‘em fooled, they think that we’re the enemy.
Seagoon: What a perfect disguise...Jympton, you were supposed to protect us. Why have you deserted your post?
Jympton: It’s got woodworm sir.
DJ Ian: So what are you going to do about the competition?
Bloodnok: We’ll draw lots for it now. Eccles, write your name on fifty pieces of paper, and put them in a hat.
Seagoon: Ken, can you choose a piece of paper.
FX: THERE IS MORE PANDEMONIUM WHEN BLUEBOTTLE TRIES TO GRAB THE HAT
Ken: Go away lad will you, I’m acting.
Bluebottle: Oh, could I act wid you den?
Ken: Yes, but keep quiet.
Bluebottle: Can I be your stand in?
Ken: Alright. Stand in that hole over there.
FX: A RIPPING SOUND AS KEN OPENS THE WINNING ENTRY
Ken: And the winner is...Eccles.
FX: MASSIVE APPLAUSE FROM THE GOONS, ACCOMPANIED BY SILENCE FROM THE AUDIENCE
DJ Ian: Eccles, have you ever built a bridge before?
Eccles: Yep, I built the Ummmbababab Bridge in 1967…and I just finished the Forth Bridge.
DJ Ian: When did you build that?
Eccles: After the first three fell down.
DJ Ian: Quickly, before the Press arrives, could I have an exclusive look at your drawings?
Eccles: Let me just get them from my room.
FX: ECCLES OPENS THE DOOR AT THE GRAND ENTRANCE TO THE HOTEL
Seagoon: Typical colonial service, the door was opened by a heavily strained wreck wearing the string remains of an ankle length vest, a secondhand trilby and both feet in one sock.
Eccles: Excuse me, can you tell me where I can get the plans for the Bridge?
Doorman: I’d try my cousin, Abdul. He works at the Scented Jasmine Restaurant just around the corner in the Rocks.
FX: SOUND OF ECCLES RUSHING TO THE SCENTED JASMINE
Eccles: My information led me to a coffee-house, just off the main caravan route, where outside the sun purged the streets of shade. Inside, all was cool and jasmined…My attendant bowed low, touched his forehead in time-honoured Islamic salute and spoke.
Abdul: The boiled fish and rice puddin’s orf mate.
Eccles: I see…ahem, your accent is familiar, oh Arab Prince.
Abdul: Yernnnn, I went to Kolidge in Kambridge, oh English mate.
Eccles: What were you studying?
Abdul: Cockney…I got it orf pat.
Eccles: Did you?
Abdul: He didn’t mind.
Eccles: Your cousin told me you could help me get the plans for the Sydney Harbour Bridge?
Abdul: I don’t have the plans, but I can sell you a map that will reveal their location.
Eccles: It’s a deal.
FX: THE RESTAURANT PHONE RINGS. ABDUL BRINGS IT OVER TO ECCLES
Eccles: Hello?
Seagoon: Hello?
Eccles: Snap.
Seagoon: Splendid, ring again tomorrow and we’ll have another game.
FX: ECCLES RUSHES BACK TO THE OUTSIDE BROADCAST STUDIO
Bluebottle: What is it?
Eccles: I don’t know, but I got it cheap.
Bluebottle: It’s a map. Where are the plans?
Bloodnok: Ohh ha ha, go to this spot on the map, dig upwards for ten feet and you’ll find them buried up a tree.
FX: SOUND OF ECCLES ASCENDING A PALM TREE AND RETRIEVING THE PLANS ACCOMPANIED BY A BOSSA NOVA NUMBER
Willium: Hardly had that music ceased, when Eccles presented the new drawings to a meeting of high-ranking idiots.
FX: THE SOUND OF A TILL RINGING
Seagoon: What a lovely tune.
Bluebottle: Like it? It’s the National Anthem of America. All the shops are playing it.
Seagoon: Just think of how much money we'll make.
FX: UNROLLING DRAWINGS
Eccles: Nothing here.
Seagoon: The drawings are on the other side.
Eccles: Oh, that’s a clever idea, who’d have guessed?
Willium: Sir, the gentlemen of the Press is ‘ere. I tried to hold ‘em back, but they burst through by puttin’ money in me hand.
Newspaper Journalist: Eccles, what is your plan for the new Bridge?
Eccles: My idea of a Bridge over Sydney Harbour would be made of nice string wood, and string, wid all nice glue, and it would have all dem nails in it…
Macgoonigal: May I introduce myself, Sir, I am William J. Macgoonigal, poet, tragedian and twit, allow me to pen a verse of appreciation:
Oh beautiful new bridge over the Emerald Harbour
Which has caused the Maharajah of Pongistan to leave his home without armour,
Incognito in his dress
And he will pass this way in his journey to Inverness.
Seagoon: What Grovelling Excellence…
Bluebottle: Listen, someone’s screaming in agony – fortunately, I speak it fluently.
Moriarty: You devils, this is a fraud, you’ll hear from my lawyer about this…
FX: SOUND OF MORIARTY’S LAWYER TYPING A LETTER OF DEMAND
Moriarty’s Lawyer: Unless you give me the plans for the new Bridge, I will be forced to charge my client a higher rate.
Moriarty: If that’s not enough, I challenge you to a seething duel. Name your weapon!
Eccles: I name my weapon Basil.
Bluebottle: No! I don't like this game. We must save Eccles from a death worse than fate. Ned Seagoon, what are you doing, hiding down there?
Seagoon: I apologise for my altitude.
Bluebottle: It is low, Ned, could we sell you an extra three feet?
Seagoon: Just what I need.
FX: MORIARTY AND ECCLES THREATENING EACH OTHER, PERCHED PERILOUSLY ON THE BOARDWALK AROUND THE HARBOUR
Eccles: See how you feel about this, Moriarty (fires his gun).
Bluebottle: Got him, right in the credentials.
Eccles: How about dat?
FX: SPLASH
Eccles: He’s fallen in the water.
FX: THE POLICE RETRIEVE MORIARTY FROM THE HARBOUR, STILL BREATHING DEFIANTLY
DJ Ian: What a morning! Would you like to go back to your room now?
Bluebottle: It sounds naughty.
Seagoon: It is.
Moriarty: And there’s more where that came from...
Bloodnok: Wait for me!
Eccles: Oh dear, time for beddy byes. Where’s my dolly.
Enchantress: Here I am darling.
Andrew Timothy: Not a very good end, but tidy, don’t you think?
DJ Ian: This is the BBC Foreign Service, tiddey pong, mate...How did that sound?
Seagoon: Hold the script up to the light – no, not a brain in sight.
DJ Ian: This is DJ Ian broadcasting from Sydney on a beautiful morning at the start of the Sydney Festival. Today my guests are the members of the world renowned, but poorly renumerated, Goon Show. A healthy Sydney welcome to the Goons.
Seagoon: Thank you. I think you mean "remunerated".
DJ Ian: It is 2012, and dead on time, the Sydney Harbour is a hive of inactivity, as English immigrants bring their shattered bank accounts to the New World.
Seagoon: Which reminds me, we were told we would be paid a pretty penny for this interview.
DJ Ian: I’m sorry, I haven’t got a pretty penny.
Bluebottle: Well, two ugly ones will do then.
DJ Ian: Here, but can I have a receipt for them?
FX: SCRIBBLE, SCRIBBLE.
DJ Ian: What’s this? Maureen Shag? That’s not your name?
Seagoon: No, that’s the name of my signature.
DJ Ian: When did you arrive?
Seagoon: At dawn, under cover of daylight ,we took up our positions with our teeth blacked out.
DJ Ian: What’s it like for the Goons to be sitting on the foreshores of Sydney Harbour, sipping champagne and orange juice?
Bluebottle: What foreshores? I can only see two.
DJ Ian: What do you think of the Park Hyatt Sydney? You’re the first guests to stay here since the renovations were finished. Do you like the Harbour views?
Seagoon: When we arrived the curtains were drawn.
Bluebottle: No, they were real. I swear.
Moriarty: I don’t like the look of it.
Bluebottle: We can’t change it now, it’s the only one we’ve got.
Eccles: I had one two, but the wheels came off.
Seagoon: Well, we can’t stand around here doing nothing, people will think we’re workmen.
DJ Ian: You’re not actually appearing in the Festival. What is the real purpose of your visit?
Bloodnok: They’re going to build a Sydney Harbour Bridge.
DJ Ian: We’ve already got one, right over our heads.
Bloodnok: They’re going to build another one.
DJ Ian: Where?
Bloodnok: Right next to this one. Parallel in fact.
DJ Ian: So how are the Goons involved?
Bloodnok: We’re going to draw the prizewinner in the design competition.
FX: TERRIBLE MASS CROWDS BRAWL. SMASHING GLASS, SCREAMS, DISTANT BAGPIPE AT SPEED
Seagoon: Hear that? Celtic versus Rangers.
Ken: In our midst if not sooner, rode two men wearing nude clothes. On a unicycle they were. Their bodies driven by legs and their legs driven by feet.
DJ Ian: Those cyclists look like protesters of some sort.
Bloodnok: Go away, or I’ll take my wig off…We’ll have to bring forward the announcement of the winner before they recognise us.
Seagoon: They look like the enemy.
Jympton: Ah, intelligence has established that the people attacking us are in fact the enemy.
Bloodnok: So that’s their fiendish game, is it?
Seagoon: Gentlemen, do the enemy realise that you have this information?
Bloodnok: Oh no, we got ‘em fooled, they think that we’re the enemy.
Seagoon: What a perfect disguise...Jympton, you were supposed to protect us. Why have you deserted your post?
Jympton: It’s got woodworm sir.
DJ Ian: So what are you going to do about the competition?
Bloodnok: We’ll draw lots for it now. Eccles, write your name on fifty pieces of paper, and put them in a hat.
Seagoon: Ken, can you choose a piece of paper.
FX: THERE IS MORE PANDEMONIUM WHEN BLUEBOTTLE TRIES TO GRAB THE HAT
Ken: Go away lad will you, I’m acting.
Bluebottle: Oh, could I act wid you den?
Ken: Yes, but keep quiet.
Bluebottle: Can I be your stand in?
Ken: Alright. Stand in that hole over there.
FX: A RIPPING SOUND AS KEN OPENS THE WINNING ENTRY
Ken: And the winner is...Eccles.
FX: MASSIVE APPLAUSE FROM THE GOONS, ACCOMPANIED BY SILENCE FROM THE AUDIENCE
DJ Ian: Eccles, have you ever built a bridge before?
Eccles: Yep, I built the Ummmbababab Bridge in 1967…and I just finished the Forth Bridge.
DJ Ian: When did you build that?
Eccles: After the first three fell down.
DJ Ian: Quickly, before the Press arrives, could I have an exclusive look at your drawings?
Eccles: Let me just get them from my room.
FX: ECCLES OPENS THE DOOR AT THE GRAND ENTRANCE TO THE HOTEL
Seagoon: Typical colonial service, the door was opened by a heavily strained wreck wearing the string remains of an ankle length vest, a secondhand trilby and both feet in one sock.
Eccles: Excuse me, can you tell me where I can get the plans for the Bridge?
Doorman: I’d try my cousin, Abdul. He works at the Scented Jasmine Restaurant just around the corner in the Rocks.
FX: SOUND OF ECCLES RUSHING TO THE SCENTED JASMINE
Eccles: My information led me to a coffee-house, just off the main caravan route, where outside the sun purged the streets of shade. Inside, all was cool and jasmined…My attendant bowed low, touched his forehead in time-honoured Islamic salute and spoke.
Abdul: The boiled fish and rice puddin’s orf mate.
Eccles: I see…ahem, your accent is familiar, oh Arab Prince.
Abdul: Yernnnn, I went to Kolidge in Kambridge, oh English mate.
Eccles: What were you studying?
Abdul: Cockney…I got it orf pat.
Eccles: Did you?
Abdul: He didn’t mind.
Eccles: Your cousin told me you could help me get the plans for the Sydney Harbour Bridge?
Abdul: I don’t have the plans, but I can sell you a map that will reveal their location.
Eccles: It’s a deal.
FX: THE RESTAURANT PHONE RINGS. ABDUL BRINGS IT OVER TO ECCLES
Eccles: Hello?
Seagoon: Hello?
Eccles: Snap.
Seagoon: Splendid, ring again tomorrow and we’ll have another game.
FX: ECCLES RUSHES BACK TO THE OUTSIDE BROADCAST STUDIO
Bluebottle: What is it?
Eccles: I don’t know, but I got it cheap.
Bluebottle: It’s a map. Where are the plans?
Bloodnok: Ohh ha ha, go to this spot on the map, dig upwards for ten feet and you’ll find them buried up a tree.
FX: SOUND OF ECCLES ASCENDING A PALM TREE AND RETRIEVING THE PLANS ACCOMPANIED BY A BOSSA NOVA NUMBER
Willium: Hardly had that music ceased, when Eccles presented the new drawings to a meeting of high-ranking idiots.
FX: THE SOUND OF A TILL RINGING
Seagoon: What a lovely tune.
Bluebottle: Like it? It’s the National Anthem of America. All the shops are playing it.
Seagoon: Just think of how much money we'll make.
FX: UNROLLING DRAWINGS
Eccles: Nothing here.
Seagoon: The drawings are on the other side.
Eccles: Oh, that’s a clever idea, who’d have guessed?
Willium: Sir, the gentlemen of the Press is ‘ere. I tried to hold ‘em back, but they burst through by puttin’ money in me hand.
Newspaper Journalist: Eccles, what is your plan for the new Bridge?
Eccles: My idea of a Bridge over Sydney Harbour would be made of nice string wood, and string, wid all nice glue, and it would have all dem nails in it…
Macgoonigal: May I introduce myself, Sir, I am William J. Macgoonigal, poet, tragedian and twit, allow me to pen a verse of appreciation:
Oh beautiful new bridge over the Emerald Harbour
Which has caused the Maharajah of Pongistan to leave his home without armour,
Incognito in his dress
And he will pass this way in his journey to Inverness.
Seagoon: What Grovelling Excellence…
Bluebottle: Listen, someone’s screaming in agony – fortunately, I speak it fluently.
Moriarty: You devils, this is a fraud, you’ll hear from my lawyer about this…
FX: SOUND OF MORIARTY’S LAWYER TYPING A LETTER OF DEMAND
Moriarty’s Lawyer: Unless you give me the plans for the new Bridge, I will be forced to charge my client a higher rate.
Moriarty: If that’s not enough, I challenge you to a seething duel. Name your weapon!
Eccles: I name my weapon Basil.
Bluebottle: No! I don't like this game. We must save Eccles from a death worse than fate. Ned Seagoon, what are you doing, hiding down there?
Seagoon: I apologise for my altitude.
Bluebottle: It is low, Ned, could we sell you an extra three feet?
Seagoon: Just what I need.
FX: MORIARTY AND ECCLES THREATENING EACH OTHER, PERCHED PERILOUSLY ON THE BOARDWALK AROUND THE HARBOUR
Eccles: See how you feel about this, Moriarty (fires his gun).
Bluebottle: Got him, right in the credentials.
Eccles: How about dat?
FX: SPLASH
Eccles: He’s fallen in the water.
FX: THE POLICE RETRIEVE MORIARTY FROM THE HARBOUR, STILL BREATHING DEFIANTLY
DJ Ian: What a morning! Would you like to go back to your room now?
Bluebottle: It sounds naughty.
Seagoon: It is.
Moriarty: And there’s more where that came from...
Bloodnok: Wait for me!
Eccles: Oh dear, time for beddy byes. Where’s my dolly.
Enchantress: Here I am darling.
Andrew Timothy: Not a very good end, but tidy, don’t you think?
July 6, 2022
This is the second set of scripts from the Goon Show that I’ve read, and it’s been fun to see the raw material that the shows were essentially carved out of. Surreal and super humorous, there really isn’t anything quite like it. Although Monty Python comes pretty close.
Perhaps the main thing that I took away from this is that the band Ned’s Atomic Dustbin took their name from a Goon Show episode, which I didn’t know. That episode was pretty good too, although I’m not sure if it’s necessarily one of their best.
To be honest, it’s hard to tell, because comparing the scripts to the final shows is like comparing apples to oranges. The actual show is far superior, and the scripts are only really for the die-hard fans. Which I’m not.
Perhaps the main thing that I took away from this is that the band Ned’s Atomic Dustbin took their name from a Goon Show episode, which I didn’t know. That episode was pretty good too, although I’m not sure if it’s necessarily one of their best.
To be honest, it’s hard to tell, because comparing the scripts to the final shows is like comparing apples to oranges. The actual show is far superior, and the scripts are only really for the die-hard fans. Which I’m not.
Read
July 25, 2011Not as good as listening to the repeats on BBC Radio 4 Extra but still very funny
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews