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Radio-play Transcript
"Fool's Delight" show:
'The Dreadful Deadings of
Jaybottle'
Transcribed & Edited by
E.O.Costello
| Programme
Transcription: "Fool's Delight" First Series, Episode Four Broadcast 2030 local time, Monday 3 May 1937 [Musical Station Identification Tag] Walrus Greenslide: This is Radio L-Y-R-C, Casino Island. Happy Harry Hyena: It'll all end in tears, just you watch. Neddie Seacoon: Nonsense! Rubbish! Greenslide: Yes, the tears start with Mr. Seacoon's jokes. Neddie: What-what-what-what-what? I'll have you know that my jokes are the finest my money can buy. Eggles: Errrrr-um, how much didja spend on 'em? Neddie: 2 bob for a gross of jokes. Eggles: Nothin' like truth in advertisin', eh folks? Neddie: If they're good enough for Joe Miller... Greenslide: But perhaps, Mr. Seacoon, our audience would like something fresher in their jokes. Neddie: If they did, they wouldn't be tuning into this station. [Band fanfare] Neddie: Having dispensed with taking the mickey out of the owners of this station, what's the next item on the agenda, Mr. Greenslide? Greenslide: Item two on the agenda is a brand-new travesty to be inflicted on our listeners. Eggles: OOOOO-oooooo! Neddie: Does this travesty fill our listeners with a nameless sense of dread? Greenslide: Oh, no. It bears the title... [Band ominous fanfare] Greenslide: "The Dreadful Deadings of Jaybottle." [Band ominous fanfare] [Pause] Jaybottle: Eeeeeeeeeeeeey. Eggles: What is it, Bottle? Jaybottle: There is somethinge nasty about that title. Surely there is some misunderstanding? Neddie: Wouldn't be, if you attended more rehearsals, mate. Mr. Greenslide, for the benefit of our small, feather-brained chum, will you repeat the title of tonight's show? Greenslide: Certainly. (clears throat) [Ominous band fanfare] Greenslide: "The Dreadful Deadings of Jaybottle." [Ominous band fanfare] Jaybottle: I do not like this game. Let us play another. How about "Chief Constable and Naughty Nurse?" Neddie: Maybe later, after the Executive Committee's bedtime. Jaybottle (disappointed): Ooooooooh. Just a thought. Neddie: Let's move to Part I, shall we? Or are there any more items of slander on the agenda? Greenslide: No, I think the way is clear for Part I, of "The Dreadful Deadings of Jaybottle." [Band plays a version of Chopin's "Funeral March" arranged for mass kazoos] Greenslide: Our story opens in a magnificent, split-level garbage tip on the Main Island with a commanding view of the communal compost heap... Eggles: Ey! How cum some fellers get luxury housin'? L-Y-R-C still has me livin' in a shippin' crate. Greenslide (continuing): ...inside, a mythological scrag and a pathological scrag are preparing their nightly feast. [GRAMS: Clattering dishes, glassware, and silverware] Jim Moliereity (singing to himself): A cup of coffee, a sandwich, and you-ou...a cosy cor-ner, a table for two-o-o... Hercules Gryphon-Thynne: Forget the show, Moliereity, I'd rather have the dinner. Moliereity: Sapristi! Does this mean you want me to put away the sequined dress? Gryphon-Thynne: Ye-e-e-s, not tonight, I think. You're not cut out to be a torch singer, you know? Moliereity: I'm not? Gryphon-Thynne: You're more of a used match singer. Moliereity: Huzzah! I'll write my agent at once. Gryphon-Thynne: Meal first, dear boy. What's on the menu tonight? Moliereity: Ahhhhhh, le specialte du maison, m'sieur. Braised side of earthworm, with earthworm sauce, and earthworm stuffing. Mmmmmmmm! Yummy-yummy! [GRAMS: Noise of large sizzling platter being placed on table] Gryphon-Thynne (rather nauseated): Oooooooohhhhh, quite. [GRAMS: Clatter of cutlery] Moliereity: What'll you have, Gryphon? White meat or dark? Gryphon-Thynne: I think I'll skip the main course, and go straight to the afters. Moliereity: Ahh! The earthworm pudding? Gryphon-Thynne (making nauseated sounds): On second thoughts, take it all, Moliereity. Moliereity: Hurrah! I'll eat like a king! (makes slurping and gulping sounds) Gryphon-Thynne: I will instead deal with our correspondence. Hmm, let's see... [GRAMS: Sounds of envelopes being rustled, opened, and rustled] Gryphon-Thynne: ...hmmm. Invitation to the 2nd Annual Cranium Island Dinner Dance and Vivisection Outing...I think we won't RSVP that one...flyer for "How To Hypnotize Fish"...notice from the University of Pennsylvania Alumni Office, notifying me that I've been traded to Brown for two freshmen and a small sum of cash...and last but not least...hello! Moliereity: What is it, Gryphon? Gryphon-Thynne: Weeeelllllll. It seems that the Improvident Life Insurance Company is very interested in our business. "Handsome sums paid out when insureds meet misfortune." Hmmmmmmmm! Moliereity: Gryphon? Gryphon? Whhhy are you looking at me like that? Gryphon-Thynne: You bear a remarkable resemblance, right now, to a one-hundred pound note. Moliereity: I do? How? Gryphon-Thynne: Right now, you're green. Moliereity: Oh, that's just the mint sauce (makes eating sound). Sure you don't want any earthworm? Gryphon-Thynne: Yes, quite. And...oh...oh, dear. Moliereity: What's wrong? Gryphon-Thynne: The fine print. "French scrags are not eligible for coverage." Moliereity: The swine-of-swines! How DARE they insult me! Me! The descendant of generations of scrags! We worked our way up from the medieval sewers of Paris to reach the depths of squalor we enjoy today! Gryphon-Thynne: Enjoy it all *you* want, dear boy. For myself, I'm getting a notion of how we can earn some folding green stuff. Moliereity: You already have some of that. You're wearing some, right now. Gryphon-Thynne: Well, I'm tired of wearing lettuce trousers. I'm getting lecherous looks from rabbits. Moliereity, a feeling of concern for my fellow creatures has just come over me. Moliereity: I'll fetch the first aid kit. Gryphon-Thynne: No, no, you misunderstand. This is a *good* feeling. We'll insure some Charlie for a decent sum of money, and then, well...you know what they say about "accidents will happen." Moliereity: No. What do they say? [GRAMS: Sound of platter hitting Moliereity's bonce.] Moliereity: OWWWW! OWWWWWWW! Ahhhh, I see. We'll hit this Charlie over the head with sizzling earthworms! Gryphon-Thynne: Whatever plan works, Moliereity. Lay out my spinach trousers and Belgian endive jacket. We're going to pay the Improvident a little visit... [Musical bridge] Hyena: It'll all end in tears, just you watch. Greenslide: "The Dreadful Deadings of Jaybottle, Part II." The scene shifts to a slightly more upscale grass bungalow on South Island. Henry Crow: [mumbles and mutters to self, absorbed in some indeterminate task] [Musical f/x: tenor sax playing "Rondo alla Turca" in A Minor, solo] Henry: Minnnnnk... [Solo continues.] Henry: Miiiiiinnnnnnnnk...! [Solo continues still more.] Henry: MIIIINNNNNKKKKIIIEEEEE! Wha...What are you doing? [Solo stops.] Minkie Bannister: I...I...I'm trucking, buddie. La-de-ah! Henry: Well... Minkie: Hi-de-hi-de-hi-de-ho! Henry: Wellllll, stop that sinful trucking at once, you brazen minkess. Minkie: I...I can't. Henry: Why...why can't you stop trucking? Minkie: I have the green light. [Solo resumes.] [GRAMS: Rapid knocking at the door.] [Solo continues, somewhat shakily.] [GRAMS: Rapid knocking at the door.] [Solo peters out.] Minkie: Ohhhh, drat it. That doesn't come 'till the bridge. Henry: There's someone at the bridge? Minkie: I hope it isn't one of those naughty tugboats. They track coal all through the house. Henry: Well...well, answer the bridge. It may be a battleship, come to deliver an express letter. [GRAMS: Sound of door opening. Sound of small wings fluttering in.] Jaybottle: Enter Jaybottle, hoppinge gaily into house. Hoppie! Hoppie! Sees audience. Hello, audience! Waves wings, hops gaily. [GRAMS: Crashing sound.] Jaybottle: Walks into china cupboard, on account of not looking where he's going. Owie! Minkie: Young Jaybottle! What are you doing here? Jaybottle: It's in the script. Neddie: Hah! Razor-keen logic. Undefeatable. Have a Ph.D, on the University of Pennsylvania. Henry: Wellllll, as long as you are here, young man, you might as well sit down. A nice young griffin and a... Minkie: Slightly less nice... Henry: ...slightly less nice... Minkie: ...quite a bit less nice... Henry: ....quite a bit less nice... Minkie: In fact, he was a bit of a... Henry: That's quite enough. If we go any lower, he might become...become a radio station owner. [Band fanfare] Eggles: AH-lo, Mr. Crane! Like the show? Huh-huh-huh! Minkie: Welllll, they left something for you, young Bottle. They left you a nice seed cake, with a candle. They said it was your birthday, buddie. Jaybottle: OOOOOOOH! Goodie, goodie! Claps wings in expression of joy. [GRAMS: Crashing noise] Jaybottle: Forgets that he's still standing near the china cupboard. Henry: Why...why don't you sit down here at the nice table, and Minkie and I will light your birthday cake for you. [GRAMS: Chair scraping noise.] Jaybottle: Ooooooh, goodie. I....hmmmm! Thinks: this is not it, my birthday. Is moved to question, like perky Mirror reporter. Why is it that Jaybottle is getting a birthday cake, when it is not being Jaybottle's birthday? Henry: It's...it's not your birthday? Jaybottle: No. Henry: Ooooh. Minkie: Oooo-oooo-oooh! Henry: Oh, dear. Minkie: Maybe...maybe it's his anti-birthday. Henry: Oh, my. I hadn't considered that, Minkie. Yes, yes indeed! This is quite possibly Jaybottle's anti-birthday. Jaybottle: Anti-birthday? Henry: Welllll, yes. If it is not your birthday, then logically speaking, it must be your anti-birthday. Jaybottle: Well, then. We must have a picnic! Minkie: A picnic? Jaybottle: Yes! We must have it, the picnic, on account of the anti-'s. Eeeee-heeee! Waits for audience laughter. [GRAMS Squishing noise.] Jaybottle: Cops dirty big overripe mango on nut. Reminds self to fire writer. Henry: Well, if it's your anti-birthday, what did you get us for presents? Jaybottle: Eeeeeeey. Presents? You want me to give it, the presents? Minkie: No presents? Oooooooh, these young kids today. No respect for tradition. When I was a kit, anti-birthdays were always remembered... Henry: Welllll, never mind ancient history, Modern Minkess. We'll just have to be big about it and forget the anti-presents for now. But see if we remember you on our anti-birthdays, Jaybottle. Now, let's see...where did I put that matchbox...ohhh, ahhhh! Here it is. Now, let's just light the candle... [GRAMS: Match being struck against box. Sizzling bomb fuse sound.] Minkie/Henry (together, not quite in sync): Forrrr, he's a jolly good birdie...for he's a jolly good birrrdie. For he's a jolly good birrrdieee...and so say all of us! Jaybottle: Eeeeee! Inhales to get breath to blow out candle. Nearly passes out, exhales at candle. [GRAMS: Large explosion.] Minkie: Good heavens. I...I wonder if he made a wish. Henry: Nooooo, Minkie. With an explosion like that, he could have only made an anti-wish. Jaybottle: You rotten swines, you! Look at me, all singe-d from the boomie-boom! Pushes beak back into place, with nasty ratchet sound. [GRAMS: Nasty ratchet sound.] Neddie: Smart chaps, those sound effects boys. Jaybottle: This is a rotten anti-birthday party! This is the worst anti-birthday party Jaybottle has ever been to! It's has been anti-fun and anti-happy making! Hops off stage with still working birdie knees. Moliereity: Sapristi! Gryphon! Did you hear that?! Gryphon-Thynne: Yesssss, drat it! It looks like a small feathered quarry has gotten away from us, for the nonce. Moliereity: What do we do now? Gryphon-Thynne: Well, I'm going to need some time to think, and a diversion. [GRAMS: Finger snapping.] Gryphon-Thynne: Got it! Max Gelding, play something brisk on the harmonica. Moliereity: Yess! And we will go back, and wrestle Neddie for the brandy! [GRAMS: Group rushing-tromping sound.] [Musical interlude: Max Gelding plays the harmonica with Wally Stoat's orchestra. The song is "When The Saints Go Marching In."] Greenslide: We now move to "The Dreadful Deadings of Jaybottle," Part III. Jaybottle, convinced that there's something afoot, has gone in search of a razor-keen mind to unravel the mystery. Eggles: OOOOO-oooooh! A...A...A *razor*-keen mind, you saaay? Greenslide: Oh, yes, certainly Mr. Eggles. Eggles: Kinda eliminates me, don't it? Jaybottle: I don't have much choice, do I? Eggles: Nope. Nope. Nope. Gotta earn me four bob for the programme tonight. Ah-huh-huh! Jaybottle: Eggles...? Eggles: Yes, my good bird? Jaybottle: Eggggglllles...? Eggles: What is it, my good bird? Jaybottle: I have been thinkinge. Thinkinge very hard, indeed. Eggles: OOOOOO-oooooh. Any...ah...any result? Jaybottle: Not a sausage. Strikes deep-in-thought pose, as perfected by Franklin Stagg, resumes aforementioned thinkinge. Knocks it off on account of shooting pains between eyebrows. Eggles: I try not to think, Jaybottle. It ruins me schoolgirl complexion. Jaybottle: Well, I am supposed to be consultinge you, Eggles, about the attempts to deadify me. Eggles: Let us be civilized about this, Bottle. Neddie: That's going to set an awful precedent for this programme. Eggles: No ad-libbing, please. Now, then, Jaybottle. Sit down at this table, and we...we shall ponnnnder your problem, over two glasses of orange juice. [GRAMS: Sound of wings flapping, Jaybottle perching. Sound of two glasses being placed on table. Two sounds of liquid being poured.] Jaybottle: 'ere. That's a dirty great big glass of orange juice for such a small birdie. Can you make one more my size? Eggles: Certainly...certainly. [GRAMS: Sound of liquid being poured, played at high speed.] Eggles: Now, then. 'ere's mud in your eye. Jaybottle: 'ere's mud...eeeeeeeeeeeeeey. Eeeeeeyyyyyy. Eggles? Eggles: Yes? Jaybottle: Where is it that you got this orange juice that you give me? Eggles: Ooooooooh. A nice man gave me a twoooo bottles of orange juice. One for me, and oooonnnnnne for you. He said he'd give me... [Lowers voice to a husky whisper] Eggles: ....he said he'd give me two whole bob if you drank your orange juice. Jaybottle: Eeeeeeeeeeeeey. Eggles...Eggles? Surely you would not do in your little chum Jaybottle for the remuneration of two bob? Eggles: Nooooo! Of course not. I...I'd split it with ya, Jaybottle. Fifty-fifty. Jaybottle: Ey. You said you was getting two bob, not fifty. I don't trust you, Eggles. Let us play a game. Let us play "switchie." Switchie! [GRAMS: Sound of roulette wheel being turned.] Eggles: Ooooooh. Bottle? Did...ah...did you just turn the...turn the ta-ble an' switch glasses of orange juice with me? Jaybottle: Eeee-heeee! Yes! Eggles: Like this? [GRAMS: Roulette sound.] Jaybottle: No. No, it was more like this. [GRAMS: Roulette sound.] Eggles: This? [GRAMS: Roulette sound] Jaybottle: Not like that, you twit, like this! [GRAMS: Extended sound of roulette wheel going around and around, slowly winding down.] Eggles (mostly to self): Hmmmm. Somethin' funny goin' on here. Jaybottle: Let us drink, Eggles. Eggles: Wellllll, ah. If ya insist, Jaybottle. [GRAMS: Two gurgling sounds.] [Silent interlude] Jaybottle: Eggles? Eggles: What is it, Jaybottle? Jaybottle: Eggles, do you get the rumble-tummy when you drink it, the orange juice? Eggles: Aaaaaah, nope. Nope. Jaybottle: Ohhhhhhhhh....! [GRAMS: Large explosion] Neddie: See folks, that's why you should stick to brandy. Much healthier. Jaybottle (off): You rotten swine, you! This makes the second deadinge of Jaybottle in just a few minutes. I don't like this game, not a bit of it! Has to make beak-ratchety noise again, while still in flight from boomie. [GRAMS: Painful beak-ratcheting noise.] Jaybottle: Owie! Gryphon-Thynne: So, it didn't work? Eggles: Wellllll...I can't see if it did. I kinda lost sight of Jaybottle behind that cloud, over there. Gryphon-Thynne: Ohhhhh. Ohhhhh. Tooooo bad, dear boy. Toooo bad. Eggles: Eeeeey. How...how about my two bob, eh? Gryphon-Thynne: No, I'm afraid you don't get the two bob. You didn't deadify Jaybottle, after all. But still, I don't want you to go away empty-winged. Here. Here's a photograph of a punch up the conk. Eggles: OOOOOOhhhhh! Ooooohhhhh! And here's a photograph of me going: "Owwwwwwww." Moliereity: Sapristi! What an amateur! You have to put more lung into it, like this: OWWWWWWWWWWW! Greenslide: Meanwhile, over on Moon Island, earth-shattering explosions are underway. [Musical F/X: Military Fanfare] [GRAMS: Sound of mortars being fired.] Major Bloodauk: Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh! [GRAMS: Sound of whistling explosion.] Bloodauk: Gaaaaaaads! [GRAMS: Sound of machine guns firing off a few belts.] Bloodauk: Aaaah-hah! Aaaaaah-hah! [GRAMS: Sound of battleship firing a full battery.] Bloodauk: Ohhhh! Ohhhh! Oh, my. Drat those lads in the mess hall. Never again with the jalapeno sardines for breakfast. Never again, d'ye hear? Now, then. Where was I? Oh, yes. My morning correspondence... [GRAMS: sound of typewriter being operated during the following lines.] Bloodauk: Let's see. To....the photo editor of...the Spontoon Mirror. Dear Sir...as a keen student of photography...I have a great interest in learning from well-composed photographs...it is my understanding...that you have in your possession...a number of art studies...of great public interest...and I would like to be able to study these...Please send a complete set...in a plain brown wrapper...to the following... [GRAMS: whistling sound of bomb dropping, which is in fact Jaybottle. Followed by loud crashing sound.] Bloodauk: Aaaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaahhh! How dare you, sir! Coming into my boudoir like this! Jaybottle: Ooooooh, oowwwwwwwiiiie! Bloodauk: What? What? What's this? Is that you, Jaybottle? Jaybottle: Who else do I look like, you twit? Bloodauk: It's a little hard to tell, since you're missing your tailfeathers. Jaybottle: Ahhhh! Look at it! Look at my small feathered bottom! It's naked! Bloodauk: Egad! Think of the scandal. Will you excuse me a moment, I have to eat this typewriter. [GRAMS: Loud metal crunching sound, followed by large swallowing sound.] Jaybottle: Underwood? Bloodauk: No, overcooked. It's the British influence, you know. [Band fanfare] Neddie (off): I say, I say, I say. Eggles (off): Kindly leave this planet. [Sound of Neddie giggling.] Bloodauk: Now, then, what can I do to...I mean...what can I do *for* you, young man? Jaybottle: Eeeee! You must used the force of your arms to protect me, Major. Bloodauk: Whaaaaat? Jaybottle: There are some naughty people trying to deadify me. Bloodauk: Whatever for? Neddie: That's probably what the audience is wondering, too. [Giggles] Bloodauk: Shut up and drink your brandy. Neddie (off): Less and less for you, mate. Jaybottle: Just now, I was given a drinkie of orange juice, and it made my tummy rumble, and then...BOOOOMIE! Bloodauk: Egad, young man. I know all too well what you're talking about. Neddie: I don't want to know that. Bloodauk: Get offstage, d'ye hear! Dratted raccoons. Now look here, young Jaybottle. I can assure you that so long as you are here on Rain Island, you are perfectly safe. I give you my word as an officer and a gentleman. [GRAMS: Telephone ringing] Bloodauk: Aaaaaaaaaah! Hmmm...ehhh? What's that? Moliereity (distorted, as if through phone): It's a phone, you idiot! Bloodauk: I can *see* that. What does it want? Moliereity (distorted): It wants you to pick it up. Bloodauk: I got in trouble in Quetta for something like that. [GRAMS: Telephone ringing, insistently] Bloodauk: Oh, very well... [GRAMS: Sound of telephone being picked up. Moliereity's voice is distorted, as though through telephone, for the rest of his speech.] Bloodauk: Major Bloodauk, here. Moliereity: Listen, Major. I want to you deadify young Jaybottle there. It is a matter of high finance. Bloodauk: Whaaaaaaaaaat? How dare you, sir! You are asking me to violate my word as an officer and a gentleman, and shred the sacred duties of hospitality, for the likes of you?! Moliereity: There's two-and-six in it for you if you deadify Jaybottle. Bloodauk: Two-and-six? Moliereity: Two-and-six. Bloodauk: Sold! Deposit it in my Swiss-cheese bank vault. [GRAMS: Sound of money dropping in tin cup] Bloodauk: Thank you, next dance please. [GRAMS: Sound of phone hanging up.] Moliereity (still distorted): Owwwwwwwww! You devil you, you have hung up on my noooose! Bloodauk: Oh. Dreadfully sorry, I'm sure. Now, hmmm....let's see. Jaybottle? Jaybottle: Yes? Bloodauk: There's a good lad. What you need is some fresh and exercise. Make a new bird out of you. Jaybottle: What's wrong with the old bird? Bloodauk: It's been deaded twice in the last few minutes. Pay attention. Neddie: Why should he? Neither has the audience. Jaybottle: Where is it, this fresh air and exercise? Bloodauk: It's just over there, my lad, in that large, wonderful, open area. Jaybottle: Oh! Goodie-goodie, I shall go, then, and romp to my...eeeeeeeeey. Bloodauk: Hmmm? Jaybottle: Stops at edge of field. Sees large sign in front of beak. Major? Bloodauk: Yes, my lad? Jaybottle: There is it, a large singe in front of my little beak. Bloodauk: Oh, that's very sharp of you, lad. Jaybottle: Yes, but it reads "Mine Field." Bloodauk (feigning surprise, rather badly): "Mine Field," did you say? Jaybottle: Of course I said it. Pay attention, you twit. Bloodauk: Well...yes...I mean ter say...well, there's a simple explanation for that sign, Jaybottle. Jaybottle (suspicious): Ohhhhhhhhhh? Bloodauk: Well, yes. You see, that field has been in the Bloodauk family for generations. It's been passed down from father to chick. My own father gave it to me on his death bed of lettuce. It...it means a lot to me. Jaybottle: So you mean...? Bloodauk: Yes. It's mine own field. [Band fanfare] Neddie: Paws up the Charlies who didn't see *that* one coming. Jaybottle: Soooooo...? Bloodauk: Well, go on, lad! Go and frolic to your little heart's content. Jaybottle: Ooooookeeeeeh! I go! And frolic! Frolic! Frolic! [GRAMS: Sound of single, sharp explosions, repeated every few seconds.] Jaybottle: You really should try some bicarbonate for that, Major. Bloodauk: Ooooooh, what's the use lad? Go on with your frolic... Jaybottle: Skips along gaily, pauses to jump up and down on small hill. [GRAMS: Sound of large explosion, followed by whistling sound, followed by crash of glass.] Bloodauk: Egad. Right into the mess hall kitchen. I think I'll order out, tonight. Jaybottle (off): You rotten swine, you! You have betray-ed your little Jaybottle! Look at me, deadified with onions and carrots in a stock pot! Finds soap, scrubs still amazingly intact knees. Sees clean skin, faints from surprise. Gryphon-Thynne: Moliereity, this Jaybottle is proving to be something of a tough nut to crack. Moliereity: Hmmmm? What? Sorry, I was just seeing if they had grubs on the menu at the mess hall. Gryphon-Thynne: Never mind that, Moliereity. It is time to come up with a fool-proof plan. Moliereity: Fool-proof? What's a fool-proof? Gryphon-Thynne: Your birth certificate, for one. Now, silence you French steamer, you. Ray Elkington is about to sing a lullaby for our little feathered chum. [Musical interlude: The Ray Elkington Quartet strikes up "I'll Be Glad When You're Dead, You Rascal You." Elkington sings the lyrics.] You sure is a rascal! I'll be glad when you dead, you rascal, you! I'll be glad when you dead, you rascal, you! When you dead in your grave, No more women will you crave. I'll be glad when you dead, you rascal, you! I trust you in my home, you rascal, you. I trust you in my home, you rascal, you. I trust you in my home, You wouldn't leave my wife alone. I'll be glad when you dead, you rascal, you! I fed you since last fall, you rascal, you. I fed you since last fall, you rascal, you. I fed you since last fall, Then you got your ashes hauled. I'll be glad when you dead, you rascal, you! You asked my wife to wash your clothes, you rascal, you. You asked my wife to wash your clothes, you rascal, you. You asked my wife to wash your clothes And something else I suppose. I'll be glad when you dead, you rascal, you! You know you done me wrong, you rascal, you. You know you done me wrong, you rascal, you. You know you done me wrong, You done stole my wife and gone. I'll be glad when you dead, you rascal, you! You asked my wife for a meal, you rascal, you! You asked my wife for a meal, you rascal, you! You asked my wife for a meal, And something else you tried to steal. I'll be glad when you dead, you rascal, you! Please don't me find you, rascal, you. Please don't let me find you, rascal, you! Please don't let me find you 'Cause you'll leave this world behind you. I'll be glad when you dead, you rascal, you! Ain't no use to run, you rascal, you. Ain't no use to run, you rascal, you. Ain't no use to run, I done bought a Gatling gun, And you still having your fun, you rascal, you! I'm gonna kill you just for fun, you rascal, you! I'm gonna kill you just for fun, you rascal, you! I'm gonna kill you just for fun; The buzzards gonna have you when I'm done. I'll be glad when you dead, you rascal, you! You done messed with my wife, you rascal, you! You done messed with my wife, you rascal, you! You done messed with my wife, And I'm gonna take your life. I'll be glad when you dead, you rascal, you! [Quartet finishes the music.] [Musical F/X: "Death March" played on solo kazoo.] Greenslide: That touching and heart-clenching virtuosity announces Part IV of: "The Dreadful Deadings of Jaybottle"... Neddie: ...featuring me, Neddie! [GRAMS: Loud applause and cheering.] Neddie: STOP! [GRAMS cuts off abruptly] Neddie (speaking through megaphone): Hello folks, calling folks! It's about time for the star of this programme to make his appearance! Eggles: Yeah, 'cause you drunk all the brandy! Neddie: I deny that completely. Lies, all lies, I tell you. You'll be hearing from my solicitor. Eggles: Why? Neddie: He needs a fourth for bridge. Now then, Mr. Greenslide, inform the masses what I am up to. Greenslide: Page 74 of "The Naughty Nun of the Parish of..." Neddie (hastily): I was referring to this story, here. Not classic literature. Greenslide: I beg your pardon. Part IV opens in a small cafe on Casino Island, where Ned Seacoon is enjoying a light afternoon snack... [GRAMS: Loud and repeated clattering of silverware and dishes. Followed by loud belch.] Neddie: Garçon! Garçon! "Mate" Cob: 'ere, 'old yer 'osses, I'll get there, I'll get there... [GRAMS: *Very* slow clip-clopping of cocoanut halves] Cob: What izzit then, mate? Neddie: The bill, if you please. Or, if you're French, l'addition s'il vous plait. Cob: I ain't got a plait, mate. It 'urts me tail somethin' fierce. Neddie: Well, I've got a dozen of them, all empty. What's the total? Cob: Lesseee...that's six pots of tea, seven 'elpings of lemon-cocoanut cake, a tray o' finger sandwiches, and one silverplated teaspoon. Neddie: I was wondering why that crudite was so crunchy. Cob: So, that'll be seven-and-fourpence, mate. Neddie: Seven-and-fourpence?! That's outrageous! That's criminal! That's unbelievable! Cob: An' that's more'n what's in yer pocket, mate, eh? Neddie: What-what-what-what-what? Cob: An that'll be three pence hextra fer goin' "what-what-what-what" in th' dinin' room. Neddie: Gads, listeners! There I was, facing a lifetime of drudgery, chained to a kitchen sink, toiling away for a lifetime to pay for a simple crumb of food. Oh, the injustice of it all! It was then that I spied a sinister face, one whose visage spoke of low cunning and criminal tendencies. I soon discovered I was looking at the mirror behind the bar. It was then that another figure joined me. Gryphon-Thynne: Neddie. I have a way to *help* you. Neddie: You can help me? Gryphon-Thynne: But of coooourse, Neddie! I'll pay off your vast debt to this establishment, and in return, all you have to do is perform a trifling, oh so inconsequential service for me. Neddie: I'll do it! Anything to avoid the shame of dishwashing. Gryphon-Thynne: A wise choice, indeed. Neddie: What is this trifling, oh so inconsequential service? Gryphon-Thynne: Ohhhh, nothing, nothing at all. You merely (lowers voice, speaks a little quickly) have to deadify Jaybottle. Neddie: You want me to deadify Jaybottle? Sweet, innocent little Jaybottle? Gad, sir, you have a heart of stone! Gryphon-Thynne: And you have a gut of seven stone. Neddie: Eight stone. Springbok: I have eight stone. Any advance on eight stone...eight sto-o-o-o-o-ne? None? Sold to the twit in the mask for eight stone. Neddie: Here you are. [GRAMS: Sound of rocks falling] Springbok: And here's your change, Jim. [GRAMS: Sound of a small marble being dropped on a hard floor.] Gryphon-Thynne: Well, Neddie, you're going to have to make a choice. It's either a lifetime of drudgery at the kitchen sink, or a few minutes deadifying a defenceless bird. Neddie: The choice, put like that dear listeners, was stark. I stood up straight, fixed my interlocutor with a cold, unwavering eye, and said... Neddie: Hammers, poison, or the afternoon edition of the Mirror? Gryphon-Thynne: Don't let's use the afternoon edition of the Mirror, dear boy. We don't want to be cruel, after all. No, we want a painless method. Neddie: Ahhh! The afternoon edition of the Elele? Gryphon-Thynne: Don't rubbish the competition, Neddie, it's bad form. No, we shall use the remarkably simple means of this time-bomb... [GRAMS: Loud watch-ticking noise] Gryphon-Thynne: ...delivered to Jaybottle. Neddie: Isn't he going to be suspicious? Gryphon-Thynne: Oh, dear me, no. You see, I've had it engraved. Neddie (reading): "To Jaybottle, on the occasion of his high achievement." High achievement? Gryphon-Thynne: Sky-high, I should think. Neddie: Dear listeners, what choice had I, but to take the proffered time-bomb and go about my sad task of deadification? It wasn't hard to find Jaybottle, of course. I just had to follow the trail of scattered feathers. Jaybottle: 'ere! Gimmie those back, I needs them! Neddie: Greetings on thee, small avian friend! Jaybottle: Eeeee. Here it comes. Neddie: Here what comes? Jaybottle: The deadification. Neddie (gulps audibly): The...the deadification? Jaybottle: Yessss! Sniffs audibly, puts on blindfold, takes out pack of fags. Lights fag, bends over double from the coughinge. Neddie: Dear, dear listeners! How could I, Neddie Seacoon, when confronted by such a pitiful display, carry through my dastardly and devious act? I bent over double... Jaybottle: That's some trick, with that gut you have. Eee-hee! Neddie: Quit with the ad-libbing, or I'll change my mind. (Giggles). No, no, no! I can't go through with it, I tell you, I can't! Aaaaaaaaaahhhh-hhaaaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaahhhhh-haaaaah! Wracked with sobs, folks. Moliereity: Paaaah! Gryphon, we've been foiled again! Gryphon-Thynne: Fool! Idiot! Moliereity: Me? Gryphon-Thynne: Not you, this time. No. Never send a raccoon to do a gryphon's work, I always say. Moliereity: No, you don't. You just said it now, for the first... [GRAMS: Sound of mole getting smacked on bonce.] Moliereity: Owwwwwwwwwww. Gryphon-Thynne: Give me that...err...implement, you overweight dustbin-raider! [GRAMS: Ticking sound, which continues on...] Eggles: 'ere. That thing don't have the correct time, it doesn't. Gryphon-Thynne: Hmmm. So it doesn't. Does anyone have the correct time? Bloodauk: When you hear the sound of the gooney bird, it will be exactly two-forty seven and one-quarter...wait for it...! [GRAMS: Loud sound of gooney bird being struck on the bonce, leaving a ringing, resonant note.] Eggles: Owwwwwwwwwwww! Jaybottle: Hmmm. Thinks: it is wise to hoppy hop a safe distance right now. Sneaks off stage left, hides in handy dustbin. Gryphon-Thynne: Let's see...two-forty seven and one...quarter... [GRAMS: Ticking sound, which suddenly stops.] Eggles: OOOOOO-ooooooooh. Bloodauk: Compannnnnnnnny.....RE-trrrrrreat! Neddie: Run for it! [GRAMS: Brief sound of running, overlaid with loud sound of explosion, followed by sound of metal parts falling for some seconds, finishing up with the sound of a rolling wheel.] Happy Harry: I told you it would all end in tears, didn't I? Jaybottle (echoing from inside dustbin): Eeeee-heeeee! That was a jolly nice game after all, that was! Wasn't as much fun as "Chief Constable and Naughty Nurse" though... [Band fanfare, starts closing theme] Greenslide: That was "Fool's Delight," an L-Y-R-C recorded programme, featuring Harry Seacoon, Shrike Milligan, and Peter Sealers, with the Ray Elkington Quartet and Max Gelding. Music by Wally Stoat and his Orchestra. Script by E.O. Costello, and the producer was Ken Fletcher. [Band continues the closing theme, until fade out.] Announcer: This is radio station LYRC, Casino Island, Spontoon Independencies, broadcasting at 50,000 watts on AM 710. When you hear the musical tones, it will be exactly 9 o'clock, B-U-L-O-V-A, Bulova watch time. [Musical Station Identification Tag] Transcribed and edited by E.O.Costello |