The incorrigible Blackadder mans the front lines of laughter. His insane antics
now come straight from the trenches of World War I.
The Western Front, 1917: There's disorder in the ranks when that numb-headed
ninny, Captain Blackadder, stumbles onto the battlefields of WWI and discovers
that people are trying to kill him. When he's not dodging bullets (not to mention
idiots), Blackadder makes a general nuisance of himself. The British may be able
to defeat the Germans, but it's unlikely they'll ever survive a comic assault by
Blackadder.
[The dugout. Blackadder is sitting in a chair reading a book. A record is
playing softly. Scratching noises are heard.]
Blackadder: Baldrick, what are you doing out there?
Baldrick: I'm carving something on this bullet sir.
Blackadder: What are you carving?
Baldrick: I'm carving "Baldrick", sir.
Blackadder: Why?
Baldrick: It's a cunning plan actually.
Blackadder: Of course it is.
Baldrick: You see, you know they say that somewhere there's a bullet
with your name on it?
Blackadder: Yes?
Baldrick: Well, I thought if I owned the bullet with my name on it,
I'd never get hit by it, 'cos I won't ever shoot myself.
Blackadder: Oh, shame.
Baldrick: And, the chances of there being two bullets with my name
on them are very small indeed.
Blackadder: That's not the only thing around here that's "very small
indeed". Your brain for example, is so minute, Baldrick,
that if a hungry cannibal cracked your head open there
wouldn't be enough inside to cover a small water-biscuit.
[George enters.]
George: Tally-ho pip-pip and Bernard's your uncle.
Blackadder: In English we say, "Good Morning".
George: Look what I got for you sir.
Blackadder: What?
George: It's the latest issue of "King & Country". Oh, damn
inspiring stuff; the magazine that tells the Tommies the
truth about the war.
Blackadder: Or alternatively, the greatest work of fiction since vows
of fidelity were included in the French marriage service.
[flicks through paper]
George: Come, come, sir, now. You can't deny that this fine
newspaper is good for the morale of the men.
Blackadder: Certainly not, I just think that more could be achieved by
giving them some real toilet-paper. [hands paper back to
George]
George: Not with you at all sir, what could any patriotic chap
have against this magnificent mag?
Blackadder: Apart from his bottom?
George: Yes.
Blackadder: Well look at it. [takes the paper again] I mean the
stuff's about as convincing as Dr. Crippen's defence
lawyer. The British Tommies are all portrayed as six foot
six with biceps the size of Bournemouth.
George: Thoroughly inspiring stuff. And look sir, this also
arrived for you this morning. [hands paper bag to
Blackadder]
Blackadder: [opening bag, taking out a revolver] Hmm, do you know what
this is, Lieutenant?
George: It's a good old service revolver.
Blackadder: Wrong. It's a brand new service revolver, which I've
suspiciously been sent without asking for it. I smell
something fishy, and I'm not talking about the contents of
Baldrick's apple crumble.
George: That's funny sir, because we didn't order those new
trench-climbing ladders either.
Blackadder: New ladders?
George: Yeah, came yesterday. I issued them to the men, and they
were absolutely thrilled. [calls to Baldrick] Isn't that
right men?
Baldrick: [from the doorway] Yes sir, first solid fuel we've had
since we burned the cat.
Blackadder: Something's going on, and I think I can make an educated
guess what it is. Something which you, George, would find
hard to do. [they go outside into the trench]
George: Ah, true, true. Where I was at school, education could go
hang as long as a boy could hit a six, sing the school
song very loud, and take a hot crumpet from behind without
blubbing.
Blackadder: I, on the other hand, am a fully rounded human being with
a degree from the university of life, a diploma from the
school of hard knocks, and three gold stars from the
kindergarten of getting the shit kicked out of me. My
instincts lead me to deduce that we are at last about to
go over the top. [peers over the top of the trench with a
periscope]
George: Great Scott sir, you mean, you mean the moment's finally
arrived for us to give Harry Hun a darned good British
style thrashing, six of the best, trousers down?
Blackadder: If you mean, "Are we all going to get killed?" Yes.
Clearly, Field Marshal Haig is about to make yet another
gargantuan effort to move his drinks cabinet six inches
closer to Berlin.
George: Right! Bravo-issimo! Well let's make a start eh, up and
over to glory, last one in Berlin's a rotten egg.
Blackadder: Give me your helmet, lieutenant.
[George hands his helmet to Blackadder, who throws it up
into the sky. Immediately heavy machine-gun fire is heard.
He catches the helmet, which now has over 20 holes in it,
and gives it back to George.]
George: Yes, some sort of clever hat-camouflage might be in order.
Baldrick: Permission to speak sir.
Blackadder: Granted, with a due sense of exhaustion and dread.
Baldrick: I have a cunning plan to get us out of getting killed sir.
Blackadder: Ah yes, what is it?
Baldrick: Cooking.
Blackadder: I see. [enters the dugout again]
Baldrick: You know staff HQ is always on the lookout for good cooks?
Well, we go over there, we cook 'em something, and get out
of the trenches that way.
Blackadder: Baldrick, it's a brilliant plan.
Baldrick: Is it?
Blackadder: Yes, it's superb.
Baldrick: [delighted] Permission to write home immediately sir, this
is the first brilliant plan a Baldrick's ever had! For
centuries we've tried, and they've always turned out to be
total pig-swill. My mother will be as pleased as Punch.
Blackadder: Hm-hm, if only she were as good-looking as Punch,
Baldrick. There is however one slight flaw in the plan.
Baldrick: Oh?
Blackadder: You're the worst cook in the entire world.
Baldrick: Oh yeah, that's right.
Blackadder: There are amoeba on Saturn who can boil a better egg than
you. Your Filet Mignon in sauce Bernaise look like
dog-turds in glue.
Baldrick: That's because they are.
Blackadder: Your plum-duff tastes like it's a molehill decorated with
rabbit-droppings.
Baldrick: I thought you wouldn't notice.
Blackadder: Your cream custard has the texture of cat's vomit.
Baldrick: Again it's.....
Blackadder: If you were to serve one of your meals in staff HQ you'd
be arrested for the greatest mass poisoning since Lucretia
Borgia invited 500 of her close friends around for a
wine-and-anthrax party. No, we'll have to think of a
better plan than that.
Baldrick: Right, how about a nice meal, while you chew it over?
Blackadder: [suspicious] What's on the menu?
Baldrick: Rat. [shows him a big black rat] Saute or fricassee.
Blackadder: [peers at the rat] Oh, the agony of choice. Saute
involves...?
Baldrick: Well, you take the freshly shaved rat, and you marinade it
in a puddle for a while.
Blackadder: Hmm, for how long?
Baldrick: Until it's drowned. Then you stretch it out under a hot
light bulb, then you get within dashing distance of the
latrine, and then you scoff it right down.
Blackadder: So that's sauteing, and fricasseeing?
Baldrick: Exactly the same, just a slightly bigger rat.
Blackadder: Well, call me Old Mr. Un-adventurous but I think I'll give
it a miss this once.
[George enters, wearing a new hat decorated with
barbed-wire.]
Baldrick: Fair enough sir, more for the rest of us.
[to George] Eh sir?
George: Absolutely, Private. Tally-ho BARF BARF.
[The telephone rings, Blackadder picks it up.]
Blackadder: Hello, the Savoy Grill. Oh, it's you..... yes..... yes,
I'll be over in 40 minutes.
Baldrick: Who was it then sir?
Blackadder: Strangely enough Baldrick, it was Pope Gregory IX,
inviting me for drinks aboard his steam-yacht "The Saucy
Sue", currently wintering in Montego Bay with the England
Cricket team and the Balinese goddess of plenty.
Baldrick: Really?
Blackadder: No, not really. I'm ordered to HQ. No doubt that idiot
General Melchett is about to offer me some attractive new
opportunities to have my brains blown out for Britain.
---------------
[At staff HQ. Darling is at his desk writing; Blackadder enters.]
Blackadder: What do you want, Darling?
Darling: It's Captain Darling to you. General Melchett wants to see
you about a highly important secret mission.
Melchett: [enters] What's going on, Darling?
Darling: Captain Blackadder to see you sir.
Melchett: Ah, excellent. Just a short back and sides today I think,
please.
Darling: Er, that's Corporal Black, sir. Captain Blackadder is here
about the other matter sir, the [lowers his voice] secret
matter.
Melchett: Ah, yes, the special mission. At ease Blackadder. Now,
what I'm about to tell you is absolutely tip-top-secret,
is that clear?
Blackadder: It is sir.
Melchett: Now, I've compiled a list of those with security
clearance, have you got it Darling?
Darling: Yes sir.
Melchett: Read it please.
Darling: It's top security sir, I think that's all the Captain
needs to know.
Melchett: Nonsense! Let's hear the list in full!
Darling: Very well sir. "List of personnel cleared for mission
Gainsborough, as dictated by General C. H. Melchett: You
and me, Darling, obviously. Field Marshal Haig, Field
Marshal Haig's wife, all Field Marshal Haig's wife's
friends, their families, their families' servants, their
families' servants' tennis partners, and some chap I
bumped into the mess the other day called Bernard."
Melchett: So, it's maximum security, is that clear?
Blackadder: Quite so sir, only myself and the rest of the English
speaking world is to know.
Melchett: Good man. Now, Field Marshal Haig has formulated a
brilliant new tactical plan to ensure final victory in the
field. [they gather around a model of the battlefield]
Blackadder: Now, would this brilliant plan involve us climbing out of
our trenches and walking slowly towards the enemy sir?
Darling: How can you possibly know that Blackadder? It's classified
information.
Blackadder: It's the same plan that we used last time, and the
seventeen times before that.
Melchett: E-E-Exactly! And that is what so brilliant about it! We
will catch the watchful Hun totally off guard! Doing
precisely what we have done eighteen times before is
exactly the last thing they'll expect us to do this time!
There is however one small problem.
Blackadder: That everyone always gets slaughtered the first ten
seconds.
Melchett: That's right! And Field Marshal Haig is worried that this
may be depressing the men a tadge. So, he's looking to
find a way to cheer them up.
Blackadder: Well, his resignation and suicide would seem the obvious
solution.
Melchett: Interesting thought. Make a note of it, Darling! Take a
look at this: "King & Country".
Blackadder: Ah, yes, without question my favourite magazine; soft,
strong and thoroughly absorbent.
Melchett: Top-hole Blackadder, I thought it would be right up your
alley. Now, Field Marshal Haig's plan is this; to
commission a man to do an especially stirring painting for
the cover of the next issue, so as to really inspire the
men for the final push. What I want you to do, Blackadder,
is to labour night and day to find a first rate artist
from amongst your men.
Blackadder: Impossible sir. I know from long experience that my men
have all the artistic talent of a cluster of colourblind
hedgehogs... in a bag.
Melchett: Hm, well that's a bit of a blow. We needed a man to leave
the trenches immediately.
Blackadder: Leave the trenches?
Melchett: Yes.
Blackadder: Yes, I wonder if you've enjoyed, as I have sir, that
marvellous painting in the National Portrait Gallery, "Bag
Interior", by the colourblind hedgehog workshop of Sienna.
Darling: I'm sorry, are you saying you can find this man?
Blackadder: I think I can. And might I suggest sir that having left
the trenches, it might be a good idea to post our man to
Paris [points on Melchett's map], in order to soak up a
little of the artistic atmosphere. Perhaps even Tahiti
[points], so as to produce a real masterpiece.
Melchett: Yes, yes, but can you find the man?!
Blackadder: Now I know I can sir. Before you say "Sunflowers" I'll
have Vincent van Gogh standing before you.
---------------
[Back in the trenches. Blackadder is painting, George is looking over his
shoulder.]
George: No, don't stop sir. It's coming, it's definitely coming.
I, hm, yeah, ah, er, hm. I just wonder if two socks and a
hand-grenade is really the sort of thing that covers of
"King & Country" are made of.
Blackadder: They will be when I painted them being shoved up the
Kaiser's backside.
[George walks over to Baldrick.]
George: Ah, now, now this is interesting.
Blackadder: What is?
George: Well, Private Baldrick is obviously some kind of an
impressionist.
Blackadder: The only impression he can do is of a man with no talent.
What's it called Baldrick? "The Vomiting Cavalier"?
George: That's not supposed to be vomit; it's dabs of light.
Baldrick: No, it's vomit.
George: Yes, now er, why did you choose that?
Baldrick: You told me to sir.
George: Did I?
Baldrick: Yeah, you told me to paint whatever comes from within, so
I did my breakfast. Look, there's a little tomato.
Blackadder: Hopeless. If only I'd paid attention in nursery art-class
instead of spending my entire time manufacturing
papier-mache willies to frighten Sarah Wallis.
George: You know it's funny, but painting was the only thing I was
ever any good at.
Blackadder: Well, it's a pity you didn't keep it up.
George: Well, as a matter of fact I did, actually. I mean [takes
out pictures] I mean normally I hadn't thought I would
show them to anyone, because they're just embarrassing
daubs really, but you know, ah, they give me pleasure. I'm
embarrassed to show them to you now as it happens, but
there you go, for what they're worth. To be honest, I
should have my hands cut off, I mean...
Blackadder: George! These are brilliant! Why didn't you tell us about
these before?
George: Well you know, one doesn't want to blow one's own trumpet.
Blackadder: You might at least have told us you had a trumpet. These
paintings could spell my way out of the trenches.
George: Yours?
Blackadder: That's right, ours. All you have to do is paint something
heroic to appeal to the simple-minded Tommy. Over to you
Baldrick.
Baldrick: How about a noble Tommy, standing with a look of horror
and disgust over the body of a murdered nun, what's been
done over by a nasty old German.
George: Excellent. I, I can see it now; "The Nun and the Hun".
Blackadder: Brilliant! No time to lose. George, set up your easel,
Baldrick and I will pose. This is going to be art's
greatest moment since Mona Lisa sat down and told Leonardo
da Vinci she was in a slightly odd mood. Baldrick, you lie
down in the mud and be the nun.
Baldrick: I'm not lying down there, it's all wet.
Blackadder: Well, let's put it this way; either you lie down and get
wet, or you're knocked down and get a broken nose.
Baldrick: Actually it's not that wet, is it?
Blackadder: No. [pushes Baldrick down, splat]
Baldrick: Who are you going to be then sir? The noble Tommy?
Blackadder: Precisely, standing over the body of the ravaged nun.
Baldrick: I want a wimple.
Blackadder: You should have gone before we started the picture.
Baldrick: You know, the funny thing is, my father was a nun.
Blackadder: [firmly] No he wasn't.
Baldrick: He was so, sir. I know, 'cos whenever he was up in court,
and the judge used to say "occupation", he'd say "nun".
[George enters, dressed in painter's smock and hat,
carrying a palette and easel.]
Blackadder: Right. [to George] You're ready?
George: Just about sir, yes. Erm, if you just like to pop your
clothes on the stool.
Blackadder: I'm sorry?
George: Just pop your clothes on the stool over there.
Blackadder: You mean, you want me... tackle out?
George: Well, I would prefer so sir, yes.
Blackadder: If I can remind you of the realities of battle George, one
of the first things that everyone notices is that all the
protagonists have got their clothes on. Neither we, nor
the Hun, favour fighting our battles "au naturel".
George: Sir, it's artistic licence. It's willing suspension of
disbelief.
Blackadder: Well, I'm not having anyone staring in disbelief at my
willie suspension. Now, get on and paint the bloody thing,
sharpish!
---------------
[Later. The painting is ready.]
Blackadder: Brilliant George, it's a masterpiece. The wimple suits you
Baldrick.
Baldrick: But it completely covers my face.
Blackadder: Exactly. Now then, General Melchett will be here at any
moment. When he arrives, leave the talking to me, all
right? I like to keep an informal trench, as you know, but
today you must only speak with my express permission, is
that clear? [sharply] Is that clear?
[With a note of regret] Permission to speak.
George: \ Yes sir, absolutely.
Baldrick: / Yes sir.
Darling: [outside] Attention! [entering] Dugout, attention!
[Melchett enters.]
Melchett: Excellent, at ease. Now then Blackadder, where would you
like me to sit? I thought just a simple trim of the
moustache today, nothing drastic.
Darling: We're here about the painting sir.
Melchett: Oh, yes, of course. [seeing George] Good Lord, George,
hahahaaa, how are you my boy? [nothing] I said how are
you?
Blackadder: Permission to speak.
George: Absolutely top-hole sir, with a ying and a yang and a
yippetty-doo.
Melchett: Splendid! And your uncle Bertie sends his regards. I told
him you could have a week off in April; we don't want you
missing the Boat Race, do we?
Blackadder: Permission to speak.
George: Certainly not. Permission to sing boisterously sir?
Blackadder: If you must.
George: Row, row, row your boat,
Melchett: [joins in] gently down the stream. Belts off, trousers
down, isn't life a scream. HAI!
Blackadder: Fabulous, university education, you can't beat it.
Melchett: Bravo, now [moving on to Baldrick] what have we here?
Name?
Blackadder: Permission to speak.
Baldrick: Baldrick, sir.
Melchett: Ah, tally-ho, yippety-dip, and zing zang spillip. Looking
forward to bullying off for the final chukka?
Blackadder: Permission to speak.
[Silence.]
Blackadder: Answer the General Baldrick.
Baldrick: I can't answer him sir, I don't know what he's talking
about.
Melchett: Aah, are you looking forward to the big push? [pinches
Baldrick's cheek]
Baldrick: No sir, I'm absolutely terrified. [pinces Melcett's]
Melchett: The healthy humour of the honest Tommy. Hahaaa, don't
worry my boy, if you should falter, remember that Captain
Darling and I are behind you.
Blackadder: About thirty-five miles behind you.
Melchett: Right, well stand by your beds. Let's have a look at this
artist of yours, Blackadder. Next to me, Darling.
Darling: Thank you sir. [sits down next to Melchett]
Melchett: So, ah, have you found someone?
Blackadder: Yes sir, I think I have; none other than young George
here.
Melchett: Oh, bravo. Well, let's have a shufti then.
Blackadder: This is called "War". [shows his own painting]
Melchett: Damn silly title George. Looks more like a couple of his
socks and a stick of pineapple to me.
George: Ah, permission to speak sir?!
Blackadder: Er, I think not actually.
Melchett: Quite right, if what happens when you open your mouth is
anything like what happens when you open your paintbox,
we'd all be drenched in phlegm. Oh no, this isn't what
we're looking for at all, is it Darling?
Darling: No sir.
Melchett: No sir!
Blackadder: There is this sir, it's Private Baldrick's, [shows
painting] he's called it "My family and other animals".
Melchett: Oh, good Lord no.
Blackadder: Well, I'm afraid that's about it sir. Apart from ... this
little thing. [show George's painting]
Melchett: Ah, now, that's more like it!
Darling: Who painted this Blackadder?
Blackadder: Well actually it was me.
George: Permission to speak, really quite urgently sir!
Melchett: Damn and blast your goggly eyes! Will you stop
interrupting, George! Now, this is excellent! [shakes
Blackadder's hand] Congratulations man! It's totally
inspiring, makes you want to jump over the top and yell
"Yah-boo sucks to you, Fritsie".
Blackadder: Thank you sir.
Darling: Are you sure you did this, Blackadder?
Blackadder: Of course I'm sure.
Darling: I'm afraid I don't believe you.
Blackadder: How dare you Darling!? [to Melchett] You know I can't let
that slur pass, sir... What possible low, suspicious,
slanderous reasons could this "office-boy" have to think
that I didn't paint the picture?
Darling: Well, three reasons as a matter of fact. Firstly: you're
in it.
Blackadder: It's a self-portrait.
Darling: Secondly: you told us you couldn't paint.
Blackadder: Well, one doesn't want to blow one's own trumpet.
George: Permission...
Blackadder: Denied.
Darling: And thirdly: it's signed "George".
Blackadder: [walks over to painting, looks closely at corner] Well
spotted. But not signed "George", dedicated "to George",
King George. Gentlemen; The King!
All: [snapping to attention] The King!
Baldrick: Where?
Melchett: Bravo Blackadder, I have absolutely no hesitation in
appointing you our official regimental artist. You're a
damn fine chap, not a pen-pushing, desk-sucking,
blotter-jotter like Darling here, eh Darling?
Darling: No sir.
Melchett: No sir! Well, accompany us back to HQ immediately.
Darling: Attention!
[Melchett and Darling exit.]
George: Permission to jolly well speak right now sir, otherwise I
might just burst like a bally balloon.
Blackadder: Later George. Much later.
---------------
[At Headquarters.]
Melchett: Congratulations on your new appointment, Blackadder.
Blackadder: Thank you sir.
Darling: And may I say Blackadder, I'm particularly pleased about
it.
Blackadder: Are you.
Darling: [smugly] Oh yes.
Melchett: Now that you are our official war-artist, we can give you
the full briefing. The fact is, Blackadder, that the "King
& Country" cover story was just a... cover story. We want
you, as our top painting bod, to leave the trenches...
Blackadder: Good.
Melchett: Tonight...
Blackadder: Suits me.
Melchett: And go out into no-man's-land.
Blackadder: No-man's-land.
Melchett: Yeeeeeees.
Blackadder: Not Paris.
Melchett and Darling:
Noooooooo.
Melchett: We want you to come back with accurate drawings of the
enemy positions.
Blackadder: You want me to sit in no-man's-land, painting pictures of
the Germans.
Melchett: Precisely! Good man!
Blackadder: Well, it's a very attractive proposition, gentlemen, but
unfortunately not practical. You see, my medium is light.
It'll be pitch dark; I won't be able to see a thing.
Melchett: Ah, hm, that is a point. I tell you what: we'll send up a
couple of flares. You'll be lit up like a Christmas tree.
Blackadder: Oh, excellent, excellent, glad I checked.
---------------
[Blackadder, Baldrick and George crawling across no-man's-land.]
Blackadder: All right, total and utter quiet, do you understand? So
for instance if any of us crawl over any barbed wire they
must on no account goaaAAAAAAAAAAHH!
Baldrick: Have you just crawled over some barbed wire sir?
Blackadder: No Baldrick, I just put my elbow in a blob of ice cream.
Baldrick: Oh, that's all right then.
Blackadder: Now, where the hell are we?
George: Well, it's difficult to say, we appear to have crawled
into an area marked with mushrooms.
Blackadder: [patiently] What do those symbols denote?
George: Pfff. That we're in a field of mushrooms?
Blackadder: Lieutenant, that is a military map, it is unlikely to list
interesting flora and fungi. Look at the key and you'll
discover that those mushrooms aren't for picking.
George: Good Lord, you're quite right sir, it says "mine". So,
these mushrooms must belong to the man who made the map.
Blackadder: Either that, or we're in the middle of a mine-field.
Baldrick: Oh dear.
George: So, he owns the field as well?
[Machine-guns fire.]
George: [yelling] THEY'RE FIRING SIR, THEY'RE FIRING.
[The guns stop.]
Blackadder: Ah yes, thank you Lieutenant. If they hit me you'll be
sure to point it out, won't you. Now come on, get on with
your drawing and let's get out of here.
George: Well, surely we ought to wait for the flare sir? You see,
my medium is light.
Blackadder: Just use your imagination for heavens sake. [thinks] Wait
a minute, that's the answer. I can't believe I've been so
stupid.
Baldrick: Yeah, that is unusual, 'cos usually I'm the stupid one.
George: Well, I'm not over-furnished in the brain department.
Blackadder: Well, on this occasion I've been stupidest of all.
George: Oh, now sir! I will not have that! Baldrick and I will
always be more stupid than you. Isn't that right Baldrick?
[standing up] Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Baldrick: Yeah, [standing up also] stupidy, stupidy, stupidy.
[Flares are fired, lighting up George and Baldrick.
Blackadder cowers on the ground.]
George: Stupidest stupids in the whole history of stupidityness.
[Machine-gun fire; Baldrick and George jump down; the guns
stop.]
Blackadder: Finished? I think the obvious point is this: we'll go
straight out to the dugout and do the painting from there.
You do the most imaginative, most exciting possible drawing
of German defences from your imagination.
George: Oh I see, now that is a challenge.
Blackadder: Quite. Come on, let's get out of here.
George: Oh sir, just one thing. If we should happen to tread on a
mine, what do we do?
Blackadder: Well, normal procedure, Lieutenant, is to jump 200 feet
into the air and scatter yourself over a wide area.
---------------
[Back at Headquarters.]
Darling: Are you sure this is what you saw Blackadder?
Blackadder: Absolutely. I mean there may have been a few more armament
factories, and [looks sideways at George] not quite as
many elephants, but...
Melchett: Well, you know what this means...
Darling: If it's true sir, we'll have to cancel the push.
Melchett: Exactly....
George: Damn!
Blackadder: What a nuisance...
Melchett: ...Exactly what the enemy would expect us to do, and
therefore exactly what we shan't do!
Blackadder: Ah.
Melchett: Now, if we attack where the line is strongest, then Fritz
will think that our reconnaissance is a total shambles.
This will lull him into a sense of false security, and
then next week we can attack where the line is actually
badly defended. And win the greatest victory since the
Winchester flower-arranging team beat Harrow by twelve
sore bottoms to one!
Blackadder: Tell me, have you ever visited the planet Earth, sir?
Melchett: So, best fighting trousers on, Blackadder!
George: Permission to shout "Bravo" at an annoyingly loud volume
sir?
Melchett: Permission granted.
George: [annoyingly loud volume] BRAVO!!!!!!!!!!
Melchett: That's the spirit. Just your kind of caper eheh,
Blackadder?
Blackadder: Oh yes.
Darling: Good luck against those elephants...
[Blackadder and George salute and leave.]
---------------
[In the dugout.]
Blackadder: Get me a chisel and some marble Baldrick.
George: Oh, you're taking up sculpture now sir?
Blackadder: No, I thought I'd get my headstone done.
George: What are you going to put on it?
Blackadder: "Here lies Edmund Blackadder, and he's bloody annoyed."
Baldrick: Are we goin' over, are we sir?
Blackadder: Yes, we are. Unless I can think of some brilliant plan.
Baldrick: Would you like some "rat-au-van" to help you think? [shows
Blackadder a tin plate with a very flat rat on it]
Blackadder: "Rat-au-vin"?
Baldrick: Yeah, it's rat that's been...
Blackadder: [joins in] ..run over by a van. No thank you Baldrick.
Although it gives me an idea. Telephone please.
---------------
[Headquarters, later that night. Melchett and Darling are dining.]
Darling: I suppose Blackadder and his boys will have gone over the
top by now.
Melchett: Yes. God, I wish I were out there with them, dodging the
bullets, instead of having to sit here drinking this
chateau Lafite, eating these Filets Mignon in sauce
Bernaise.
Darling: My thoughts exactly sir. Damn this Chateau Lafite.
Melchett: He's a very brave man, Blackadder. And of course that
Lieutenant of his, George, Cambridge man you know. His
uncle Bertie and I used to break wind for our college.
Slightly unusual taste, this sauce Bernaise...
Darling: Yes sir, and to be quite frank, these mignon are a
little... well...
Melchett: What?
Darling: Well, dungy.
Melchett: What on earth's wrong with our cook?
Darling: Well, it's a rather strange story sir.
Melchett: Oh? Tell, tell.
Darling: Well sir, I received a phonecall this afternoon from Pope
Gregory IX, telling me that our cook had been selected for
the England Cricket team and must set sail for the West
Indies immediately.
Melchett: Really?
Darling: Then a moment later, the phone rang again. It was a trio of
wandering Italian chefs, who happened to be in the area,
offering their services. So I had the quartermaster take
them on at once.
Melchett: Ah, hm, Hm, HM , Ah, Oh, OH!! Jumping giblets! Are you
sure these are real raisins in this plum-duff?
Darling: Oh yes, I'm sure they are sir. Everything will be alright,
once the cream custard arrives.
---------------
[Back in the dugout. Blackadder, George and Baldrick enter, wearing cooks'
aprons and huge black false moustaches. Baldrick is carrying a jug and a
small kitten.]
George: Well all jolly good fun sir. But dash it all, we appear to
have missed the big push.
Blackadder: Oh damn, so we have. One thing puzzles me Baldrick; how did
you manage to get so much custard out of such a small cat?
---------------
B L A C K A D D E R
G O E S F O R T H
Captain Edmund Blackadder
ROWAN ATKINSON
Private S. Baldrick
TONY ROBINSON
General Sir Anthony Cecil
Hogmanay Melchett
STEPHEN FRY
Lieutenant The Honourable
George Colhurst St. Barleigh
HUGH LAURIE
Captain Kevin Darling
TIM McINNERY
Title Music
Composed and Arranged by
HOWARD GOODALL
Played by
The Band of the 3rd Battalion
The Royal Anglian Regiment
(The Pompadours)
Bandmaster
WOI TIM PARKINSON
P/BR. 647989 Libotte, J
Vis/E. 110143 Turner, R
Tech/Co. 364007 Massen, D
V/M 420372 Abbott, C
VTE. 614981 Wadsworth, C
Cm/S. 841842 Hoare, J
S/Svr. 733731 Deane, M
Dep/Svr. 713429 Way, N
L/Dr. 988212 Bristow, R
P/Mgr. 323476 Cooper, D
P/Att. 114209 Sharples, V
AFM 529614 Kennedy, J
C/Dgr. 368807 Hardinge, A
M/V Dgr. 82641 Noble, C
Dgr. 404371 Hull, C
Dir. 232418 Boden, R
Prod. 597602 Lloyd, J
(c) BBC TV MCMLXXXIX
Back to top of Part 4
(in BA's quarters; Edmund is on the phone) Edmund: You'd like to book a table for three by the window for 9.30 PM, not too near the band, in the name of Obel-ointment Fungentula. Yes, yes, I think you might have the wrong number. Alright. (hangs up; enter George) George: Rather close line there, eh sir? That phone system is a shambles no wonder we haven't had any orders! Edmund: Oh, on the contrary, George, we've had plenty of orders. We have orders for six meters of Hungarian crushed velvet curtain material, four rock salmon and a ha'pence of chips and a cab for a Mr. Redgrave picking up from 14 Arnost Grove Raintop Bell. George: Rather we don't want those sort of orders, we want orders to Deck Old Glory. When are we going to give Fritz a taste of our British spunk? Edmund: George, please. No one is more anxious to advance than I am, but until I get these communication problems sorted out, I'm afraid we're stuck. (phone rings) Captain Blackadder speaking.....no, I'm afraid the line's very cclllffffhhtttt! Darling: Hello? Hello, Captain Blackadder, hello? (a German accent pops up; really Edmund. He rustles paper, pretending the re- ception's lousy.) Edmund: Schenll, schenll, Die Koppeltop, I said, there's a terrible line at my end. You are to advance on the enemy at once. (puts on a record) "A wandering minstral eye in the...(record goes off, Edmund speaks) ..on Gail Force Eight. George: I say, come on, sir, what's the message? I'm on tenderhooks, do tell! Edmund: Well, as far as I can tell, the message was, "he's got a terrible lion up his end, so there's an advantage to an enema at once." George: Damn! (enter Baldrick) Baldrick: Message from HQ, sir. George: Ah, now, this should be it. A telegram ordering an advance! Edmund: Ummm yes, I'm afraid not, George, it is a telegram, it is ordering an advance, but it seems to be addressed to 'Catpain Blackudder'. Do you know a 'Catpain Blackudder', George? George: Well, it rings a bell, but I.. Edmund: Ouhh.....nope, me neither. (throws message away) George: Oh well. Edmund: Go away George, I'm sure if they want to contact us, they'll find a way. Baldrick: Speaking, sir, speaking, there's a pigeon in our trench! George: Ah, now, this'll be it! (goes outside) Yes, it's one of the King's carrier pigeons. (all go outside) Baldrick: No, it isn't, that pigeon couldn't carry the King! Hasn't got a tray or anything. Edmund: Hands, revolver please. George: Oh now, sir, you really shouldn't do this you know! Edmund: Come on George, with 50,000 men getting killed a week who's going to miss a pigeon? (shoots the pigeon dead) George: Well, not you, obviously, sir. Edmund: In any case, its's scarcely a court martial offence. Get plucking, Baldrick. Baldrick: Alright, sir. Look, it's got a little ring 'round it's leg, there's a novelity! George: Oh really, is there a paper hat as well? Baldrick: No, but there's a joke. Read it out, sir. George: It's a bit charred. Something something at once..PS, due to communi- cation crisis, the shooting of carrier pigeons is now a court-martial offence. I don't see what's so funny about that, sir. Edmund: That's not funny, it's deadly serious, we're in trouble. So, I shall eat the evidence for lunch and if anyone asks you any questions at all, we didn't receive any messages and we definitely did not shoot this plump breasted pigeon. (at BA's quarters...Edmund just had the pigeon for lunch.) Edmund: Umm..delicious. (enter Melchett and Darling) Melchett: Eahy, Blackadder! Darling: Attention! Melchett: And why, Captain, are you not advancing across No Man's Land? Edmund: Well, sir, call me a bluffo traditionalist, but I was always taught to wait for the order to attack before attacking. Melchett: Are you trying to tell me you haven't received any orders? What the hell are you playing at, Darling? Darling: That's a flagrant lie, sir. I spoke to Blackadder less than an hour ago. Edmund: Yes you did. To tell me some gobbledygook about having a lion up your bottom. Melchett: Umm...I thought it's the old communications problem again. Stand easy. Action on this is imperative, take that down, Darling. Darling: Yes. use it more often in conversation. Darling: I must say sir, I find this all very unlikely. Not only did I tele- phone Blackadder, but as you'll recall, we sent him a telegram and a carrier pigeon. Edmund: Did you? Darling: Are you telling us you haven't had a pigeon, Blackadder? Edmund: Ohaaahhh! Jim", my only true love who's been with me since I was a nipper! And to business, I'm giving you your order to advance now. Syncronise watches gentlemen. Private, what is the time? Baldrick: We didn't receive any messages and Captain Blackadder definitely did not shoot the delicious plump breasted pigeon, sir. Melchett: WHAT??????? Edmund: You want to be cremated, Baldrick or buried at sea? Baldrick: (thinking it over) Umm.... Darling: Lieutenant? George: Sir. Darling: Do you mind answering a couple of questions? George: Not at all, sir. We didn't get any messages and Blackadder definitely did not shoot this delicious plump breasted pigeon. Edmund: Good. Darling: And look sir, pigeon feathers. White feathers very apt, eh Blackadder? Melchett: White feathers? Baldrick: Oh no, sir, that's gobbleijuke! They're not white, they're sort of speckly! Melchett: (shocked) Speckly?! AAHHHHHHHH! YOU SHOT MY SPECKLED JIM??? Darling: You're for it now, Blackadder. Quite frankly sir, I've suspected this for some time. Quite clearly, Captain Blackadder has been disobeying orders with a breathtaking impertinence. Melchett: I don't care if he's been watering the Duke of York with a prize- winning leak! He shot my pigeon! (screams) AAAHH AHHHH OOOHHHH! Darling: Take it easy. I think we should do this by the book, sir. Melchett: Yes, yes, you're right, of course. I'm sorry. Attention! Darling: (drums are heard in the background) Captain Blackadder, as of this moment you may consider yourself under arrest. You know what the penalty is for disobeying orders, Blackadder? Edmund: Umm..court-martial, followed by immediate cessation of chocolate rations? Darling: No, court-martial followed by immediate death by firing squad. Edmund: Oh, so I got it half right. (at the cell) Perkins: (Edmund's guard) Sadder than a happy hour then, sir? Wave all our last goodbyes. Edmund: Oh, no need for that, Perkins, I'll just dash off a couple of notes, one asking for a sponge bag, and the other sending for my lawyer. Perkins: Oh, your lawyer now, yes sir. Don't you think that might be a bit of a waste of money, sir. Edmund: Not when he's the finest mind in English legal history. Ever heard of Bob Mattingburg? Perkins: Oh, yes indeed, sir! A most gifted gentleman! Edmund: I remember Mattingburg's most famous case, the case of the bloody knife. A man was found next to a murdured body, he had the knife in his hand, thirteen witnesses that seen him stab the victim, when the police arrived he said, "I'm glad I killed the bastard." Mattingburg not only got him off, but he got him knighted in the New Year's Honors list, and the relatives of the victim had to pay to have the blood washed out of his jacket. Perkins: There is a job under the prosecution involved, sir. Edmund: Yes, well, look at Oscar Wilde. Perkins: Oh, butch, Oscar. Edmund: A big, bearded, bonking, butch Oscar. The terror of the ladies. 114 illegitamate children, world heavyweight boxing champion, and author of the best-selling phamplet, "Why I Like To Do It With Girls". Mattingburg had him sent down for being a whoopsie. (enter Baldrick) Ah, Baldrick. Anything from Mattingburg yet? Baldrick: Yes, sir. It just arrived, sir. Edmund: What is it? Baldrick: Sponge bag, sir. Edmund: A sponge bag. Edmund: Baldrick, I gave you two notes. You sent the note asking for a sponge bag to the finest mind in English legal history. Baldrick: Certianly did, sir! Edmund: And you sent the note requesting legal representation to... (enter George) George: Well, tally-ho, with a bing and a bong and a buzz-buzz-buzz! (THUMP!) Edmund: (digustingly, as we've all heard before) Oh God! George: I'll tell you, apart from all, sir, that I am deeply, deeply honored. Edmund: Baldrick, I'll deal you later. Am I to understand that you are going to represnt me at the court-martial? George: Absolutly, sir. Well, it's a sort of family tradition, really. My uncle's a lawyer, you know. Edmund: Your uncle's a lawyer, but you're not. George: Oh, good lord, no. I'm absolute duffer at this sort of thing. In school the basing society, I was voted the boy least likley to complete a coherent...um...an oops...yes, anyway, my dear old friend, its an honor to serve. Edmund: George, I'm in trouble here. I need to construct thats as watertight as a mermaid's brassiere. I'm not sure your particular brand of mindless optimism is going to contribute much to the proceedings. George: Well, that's a shame, sir, becarse I was planning on playing the mindless optimisim card very strongly. Edmund: I beg your pardon? George: Yes, I've already planned my closing address based on that very thing. Oh, go on, let him off, your honor, please! It's a lovely day. Pretty clouds, trees, birds, etc. I rest my case. Edmund: So, council, with that summing up in mind, what do you think my chances are? George: Well, not all that good I'm afraid, as far as I can tell you're as guilty as a puppy sitting next to a pile of poo. Edmund: Ah. (in the court room; Edmund's trial is taking place) George: (walking in) Crikey! So sorry I'm late, my luv. A voice: 'allo. George: But anyway, let me open up my defence straight away, by saying that I've known this man for three years, he's an absolutely gawking chap. Edmund: George? George: Yes, sir? Edmund: That's the clerk of the court. George: Is it? Oh! Edmund: We haven't started yet. (enter Darling) Darling: Good luck, Blackadder. Edmund: Well, thank you, Darling. And what's your big job here today? Straightening chairs? Darling: No, in fact I'm appearing for the prosecution. I wouldn't raise your hopes too much, you're guilty as hell, you haven't got a chance. Edmund: Why thank you, Darling. And I hope your mother dies in a freak yachting accident. Darling: Just doing my job, Blackadder. Edmund: Obeying orders, and of course, having enormous fun into the bargain. I wouldn't be too confident if I were you, any reasonably impartial judge is bound to let me off. Darling: Well, absolutely. Edmund: Who is the judge, by the way? Melchett: (boldly) Me! Edmund: I'm dead. Melchett: Well, come on, then. Come on. Get this over in five minutes, and then we can have a spot of lunch. (some noise from the others) The court is now in session, General Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmenay Melchett in the chair. The case before us is that of the crown vs. Captain Edmund Blackadder, the flanderous pigeon murderer! Oh, uh hand me the black cap, I'll be needing that. Edmund: I love a fair trial. Melchett: Anything to say before we kick off, Captain Darling? Darling: May it please the court, as this is clearly an open and shut case, I beg leave to bring a privete prosecution against the defence council for wasting the court's time. Melchett: Granted. Council, he is fined fifty pounds for turning up. This is fun! This is just like a real court! Alright! Let the trial begin! The chagre before us is that the flanderous pigeon murderer did de- liberately, callously, and with beastliness of forethought murder a lovely, innocent pigeon. And disobeyed some orders as well. Is this true? George: Perfectly true, sir. I was there. Edmund: Thanks George. George: Oh, dammit. Melchett: Right. Council for the defence, get on with it. George: Oh, right, yes, right. Um, yes. I'd like to call my first witness Captain Darling. Melchett: You wish to call the council for the prosecution as a defence witness? George: That's right. (aside) Don't worry, sir, I've got it all under control. You are Captain Darling of the general staff? Darling: I am. George: Captain, leaving aside the incident in question, would you think of Captain Blackadder as the sort of man that would usually ignore orders? Darling: Yes, I would. George: Ah, um. You sure? I was rather banking on you saying no. Darling: I'm sure. In fact, I have a list of other orders he's disobeyed, if it would be useful. November 16th, 9:15am, 10:23am, 10:24am, 11:17am... George: You missed one out, there. Darling: ...10:30am, 11:46am... Edmund: George! George: What? Oh, oh ye-ye-right, yes. Thank you, Captain. No further questions. Edmund: Well done, George. You really had him on the ropes. George: Don't worry, old man. I have a last and I think you'll find decisive witness. Call Private Baldrick. Edmund: (to Baldrick) Deny everything, Baldrick. George: Are you Private Baldrick? Baldrick: NO! George: Um, but you are Captain Balckadder's batman? Baldrick: NO! George: Come on, Baldrick. Be a bit more helpful, it's me! Baldrick: No it isn't! Darling: Sir, I must protest! Melchett: Quite right! We don't need your kind here, Private. Get out. Sum up, please. George: Oh, right, yes, uhhhh, oh.....Uh, gentlemen, you have heard all the evidence presented here today, but in the end it is up to the conscience of your hearts to decide, and I firmly belive, that like me, you will conclude that Captain Blackadder is in fact, totally and utterly, GUILTY......of nothing more than trying to do his duty under difficult circumstances. Melchett: Nonsence! He's a hound and a rutter, and he's going to be shot! However, before we proceed to the formality of sentancing the deceased, I mean the defendant, (laughs) I think we'd all rather enjoy the case of the prosecution. Captain Darling, if you please. Darling: Sir, my case is very simple. I call my first witness, General Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmaney Melchett. Melchett: Ah..umm! (goes up to the stand) George: Clever, clever. Darling: General, did you own a lovely, plump, speckily pigeon called Speckled Jim, which you hand reared from a chick and which was your only childhood friend? Melchett: (hysterical) Yes! (calmer) Yes, I did. Darling: And did Captain Blackadder shoot the aforementioned pigeon? Melchett: Yes, he did! Darling: (shouts) Can you see Captain Blackadder anywhere in this courtroom? Melchett: (overwrought, pointing his finger at Edmund) YES, THAT'S HIM!!! THAT'S THE MAN!!!!! AAHHHHH AAAAHHHHHH!!!!! Darling: No more questions, sir. Melchett: Very good, excellent, first class. Carry on. I therefore have ab- solutely no hesitation in announcing that the sentence of this court is: that you Captain Edmund Blackadder be taken from this place and shot to death by shooting tommorrow at dawn. (bangs gavel). Do you have anything to say? Edmund: Yes, can I have an alarm call, please? (at the cell) Perkins: Someone to see the Captain? Edmund: What does he look like? Perkins: Short, ugly... Edmund: Hello Baldrick. Baldrick: I brought you some food, sir, for your final breakfast tommorrow. Edmund: Ah, so you're not pinning much hope on a last minute reprieve then. Baldrick: No sir, you are as dead as some doo-doos. Edmund: The expression, Baldrick, is 'as a do-do'. 'Dead as a do-do'. Perkins: Well, I'll leave you to it then, shall I? (leaves) Baldrick: Do not despair, sir. All my talk of food was jsut a dead herring. In fact, I have a cunning plan. This is not food, but an escape kit. Edmund: Good Lord! A saw, a hammer, a chisel, a gun, a change of clothes, a Swiss passport, and a huge false moustache, I may just stand a chance. Baldrick: Ah.... Edmund: Let's see, what have we here? A small painted wooden duck. Baldrick: Yeah, I thought if you get caught near water, you can balance it on the top of your head as a brillaint disguise. Edmund: Yeeeesss, I would, of course, have to escape first. Ah, but what's this, unless I'm much mistaken, a hammer and a chisel? Baldrick: You *are* much mistaken! Edmund: A pencil and a miniature trumpet. Baldrick: Yes, a pencil so you can drop me a postcard to tell me how the break out went and a small little tiny miniature trumpet in case during your escape, you have to win favour with a difficult child. Edmund: Baldrick, I don't want to spend my last precious hours rummaging through this feeble collection of stocking-fillers. Now let me ask you some simple questions: is there are a saw in this bag? Baldrick: No. Edmund: A hammer? Baldrick: No. Edmund: A chisel? Baldrick: No. Edmund: A gun? Baldrick: No. Edmund: A false passport? Baldrick: (thinks) No. Edmund: A change of clothes? Baldrick: Yes sir, of course I wouldn't forget a change of clothes. Edmund: Ah, now that's something, let's see.....a Robin Hood costume. Baldrick: I put in a French peasant's outfit first, but then I thought 'What if you arrive in a French peasant's village and they're in the middle of a fancy dress party?' Edmund: And what if I arrive in a French peasant village, dressed in a Robin Hood costume and there *isn't* a fancy dress party? Baldrick: Well, to be quite frank sir, I didn't consider that eventuality, because if you did, you'd stick out like a..... Edmund: (interrupting) Like a man standing in a lake with a small painted wooden duck on his head? Baldrick: Exactly! (re-enter Perkins) Perkins: Excuse me, sir. Edmund: Alright. Aaahhmm, thank you, Baldrick, we'll finish this picnic later. Baldrick: (rather loudly) YUM YUM! (exits) Perkins: Do you mind if I disturb you for a moment, sir? Edmund: No, no, not at all. My diary's pretty empty this week. Let's see, Thursday morning, get shot, yes, that's about it, actually. Perkins: It's just there's a few chaps out here would like a bit of a chinwag. Edmund: Oh, loveley. Always keen to meet new poeple. Perkins: Corpral Jones and Privates Spacer, Robinson, and Tipperwick All: Hello Edmund: Oh, nice of you to drop by. And what do you do? Leader: We're your firing squad, sir. Edmund: Of course you are. Squad man 2: Good sized chest. Leader: Shut up, lad. Squad man 2: Sir! Leader: You see, us firing squads are a bit like taxmen, sir, everyone hates us, but we're just doin' our job, 'aven't we, sir? Edmund: My heart bleeds for you. Leader: Well, sir, we aim to please. Just a little firing squad joke there, sir! You see, sir, we take pride in the termanatory service we supply. So, is there any particular area you'd like us to go for, hmm? We can aim anywhere. Edmund: Well, in that case, just above my head might be a good spot. Leader: You see, a laugh and a smile, and all of a sudden the job doesn't seem quite so bad after all, does it sir? Squad man 2: No, and a lovely roomy forehead. Squad man 3: A good pulse and jugular, there as well. Edmund: Look, I'm sorry, I know you mean to be friendly, but I hope you won't take it amiss if I ask you to sod off and die. Leader: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, fair enough, 'course not, sir. No one likes being shot first thing in the morning, do they? No, no, no, So, look foreward to seeing you tomorow, sir. You'll have a blindfold on of course, but you'll recognize me. I'm the one that says, "Ready, aim, fire!" Edmund: Can I ask you to leave a pause between the word "aim" and the word "fire"? Thirty or forty years, perhaps? Leader: Ahh, wish I could pause, sir. I really wish I could, but I can't, you see, cos I'm a tabler, you see. (lots of inaudible lines, sorry) (Firing Squad leaves) Edmund: Perfect! I wonder if anything on earth could depress me more? (enter Baldrick) Baldrick: Excuse me, sir? Edmund: Of course it could. Baldrick: I forgot to give you this letter from Lieutenant George, sir. Edmund: (sarcastically) Ahh! Oh, joy! What wise words from the world's greatest defence counsel. (reads letter) 'Dear Mother,'......un- usual start, (continues) 'thanks for the case of Scotch.' You've excelled yourself, Baldrick. You've brought the worng letter again! Baldrick: Ohh yeah, he did write two. Edmund: Yes, his mother's about to get a note, telling her he's sorry she's going to be shot in the morning.....while *I* have to read this drivel. (reads further) 'Count Celia thrives in the Pony Club trials and that little Freddy scores a century for the first eleven'. (aside) You can't deny, it's a riveting read...uhhh, 'Send my love to Uncle Rupert', (aside) who'd have thought it, Mad Uncle Rupert, Minister of War. Power of life or death over every bally soldier in the army. Hang on a minute.....this is it! All George has to do is send him a telegram and he'll get me off. (in a pleasant tone) Baldrick, I love you! I want to kiss your cherry lips and nibble your shell-like ears. I'm freeeee! (at BA's quarters, George is moping) George: I'm useless, useless! Baldrick: Sir, sir! George: Hello Private, how's the Captain? Baldrick: He's absolutely fine, sir, but.. George: uhh, you're just trying to cheer me up. I know the truth. He hates me cos I completely arsed up his defence. Baldrick: Yes, I know, sir, but.. George: I'm thick, you see. I'm as thick as the big-print version of The Com- plete Works of Charles Dickens. If only I could've saved him. If only! Baldrick: But you *can*, sir. George: What, how? Baldrick: You send a telegram. George: Of course! I send a telegram. Baldrick: Yeah! George: Who to? Baldrick: To the person in the letter. George: What letter? Baldrick: To your mother. George: I send a telegram to my mother?! Baldrick: No! George: No! Baldrick: You send a telegram to the person in the letter to your mother. George: Who was in the letter to my mother? Baldrick: I can't remember! George: Well, think, think! Baldrick: No, you think think! George: Well, I ahh...Stay here, of course, the Pony Club Trials. Yes! See here, they can leap over the walls over the prison and save him. Baldrick: No, no! George: No, no, ahhhmm. Yes, cricket. Yes, I've got Cousin Freddie, of course. He can knock out the firing squad with his cricket bat. Baldrick: No, there's someone else! George: (excited) Oh well, who!? Baldrick: I don't know. George: Well, neither do I! Baldrick: Well, think! George: You think! Baldrick: You think that! (both continue arguement, then....) George: No, it hasn't helped. Baldrick: Yes it has, sir. Your Uncle Rupert who's just been made Minister of War. George: Of course. Uncle Rupert shall be made Minister of War. Baldrick, I'll, I'll send him a telegram and he'll, he'll pull strings and scratch backs and fiddle with nobs, and.... Baldrick: HURRAY! George: Well, I got there in the end, eh Baldrick? Baldrick: Oh, just about, sir. George: Ah, I think this calls for a celebration, don't you? What about a toss of old Morehen's Shredded Sporum, which Mum has just sent over? I drink a toast, don't you, to Captain Blackadder and freedom! Baldrick: Captain Blackadder and Freedom, sir. (outside, where Edmund is to be executed; Dawn, a cock crows) Edmund: 'Morning. Firing Squad (all): 'Morning. Perkins: I must say, Captain, I've got to admire your balls. Edmund: Prehaps later. (to Firing Squad) How are you doing? All: Very well, good. Edmund: Robinson, good to see you. Robinson: Good to see you, too, sir. Edmund: Ahh, Corporal, how's the voice? Corporal (referred to as Leader in an earlier scene): Excellent, sir. Edmund: So the phone's on the hook, is it Perkins? Perkins: Oh yes, sir. Edmund: So, where do you want me? Corporal: Well, up against the wall is traditional, sir. Edmund: Course it is. Ah...this side or the other side? (all laugh) No messengers waiting, Perkins? Perkins: Oh, I'm afraid not, sir. Oh well. Corporal: Alright, lads, line up. Edmund: Yes, uahh...now look, I think there might have been a bit of a mis- understanding, you see. I was expecting a telegram. Corporal: ATTENTION! Edmund: Quite an imporant one, actually. Corporal: TAKE AIM! A voice: Stop! Edmund: I think that's what they call 'the nick of time'. Voice: Letter for the Captain. Edmund: Of course it is. Read it please. Voice: Eh, 'here's looking at you. Love from all the boys in the firing squad.' Corporal: You soft bastards, you! Squad Man 2: After all we've got, I couldn't resist it. Edmund: (sarcastically) How thoughtful! Corporal: ATTENTION! Edmund: Now look, ah, something has gone spectacularly badly wrong. Corporal: TAKE AIM! Edmund: Baldrick, you're mincemeat! (at BA's quarters) George: (awaking) Oh, my head! Ah, my head! Feels like the time I was initiated into teh Silly Buggers society at Cambridge. I misheard the rules and push a whole oberjing into my earhole. Baldrick: Permission to die, sir. George: Oh! Bu-bu-bu-what started this drinking? Oh, yes, well,we were cele- brating getting Captain Blackadder off scot...(realises it's too late) free. Oh my sainted trousers, we forgot! Baldrick: Oh whoops. George: Oh no. He's dead, you see. He's dead dead dead because we're a pair of selfish so and so's....(despairingly) oh, course, if I have a rope, I'd put it around my neck and bally well hanged myself until it really hurt. (Edmund walks in) Edmund: Hi, George, 'morning, Baldrick. Still the striking resemblence to guppie fish at feeding time. Yep, it arrived in the nick of time. George: Oh, excellent! Edmund: Ah, so you've got the Scotch out, haven't we? George: Oh, well, well, of course, sir, yes. We wanted to lay on a bit of a bash for your safe return, ah..here you go. (gives Edmund a drink, laughs) Edmund: There was a second telegram that arrived actually George, addressed personally to you by your Uncle. George: Oh, thank you, I....(tries to get letter from Edmund, who opens and reads it) Edmund: (reads) 'George, my boy, Outraged to read in dispatches how that ass Melchett made such a pig-ear out of your chum Blackadder's court-mar- tial. Have reversed the decision forthwith. Surprised you didn't ask me to do it yourself, actually.' Now this is interesting, isn't it? George: Uh, uhh, yes, well, I, you see, sir. Uh..the thing is.. Edmund: You two got whammed last night, didn't you? George: We--well, well, no, uh, uh. not whammed exactly. A little tiddly, perhaps. Edmund: And you forgot the telegram to your Uncle! George: Well, n--n--n-no. Not, not, not completely. Partially, umm....Well yes, yes. Entirely. Baldrick: I think I can explain, sir. Edmund: Can you, Baldrick? Baldrick: (pause) No. Edmund: As I suspected. Now, I'm not a religious man, as you know. Henceforth, I shall nightly pray to the God, who killed Cain and squashed Sampson, that He comes out of retirement and gets back into practice on the pair of you! (phone rings; Edmund answers it) Edmund: Captain Blackadder. Ah, Captain Darling. Well, you know, some of us just have friends in high places, I suppose. Yes, I can hear you per- fectly. You want what? You want two volunteers for a mission into No Man's Land, Code name: Operation Certain Death. yes, yes I think I have just the fellows. (hangs up; to George and Baldrick) God is *very* quick these days. ***FINIS***Back to top of Part 4
(in the army barracks, sound of whistling is heard) (Edmund sighs) George: You're a bit cheezed off, sir? Edmund: George, the day this war began I was cheezed off. Within ten minutes of you turning up, I finished the cheeze and moved on to the coffee and cigars. And at this late stage, I'm in a cab with two lady com- panions on my way to the Pink Pussycat in Lower Regency. George: Oh well, because if you are cheezed off, you know what would cheer you up, alot of Charlie Chaplin films. Oh, I love Old Chappers, don't you, Cap? Edmund: Unfortuately no I don't. I find his films about as funny as getting an arrow through the neck and discovering there's a gas bill tied to it. George: Ah, beg pardon, sir, but come off! His films are ball-bouncingly funny. Edmund: Rubbish! George: Alright, why let's consult the men for a casting vote, shall we? Bal- drick? Baldrick: (entering) Sir! George: Charlie Chaplin, Baldrick. What do you make of him? Baldrick: Oh sir, he's as funny as a vegetable that's grown into a rude and amusing shape, sir. Edmund: So you agree with me. Not at all funny? George: Oh come on, skipper, it ain't fair. I haven't asked for all of this. When he kicked that fellow in the backside, I thought I'd die! Edmund: Well, if that's your idea of comedy, we can provide our own without (??) for the priviledge. (kicks Baldrick) There, you find that funny? George: Well, no of course not, sir, but you see, Chaplin is a genius. Edmund: He certainly is a genuis, George. He invented a way of getting a million dollars a year by wearing stupid trousers. Did you find that funny, Baldrick? Baldrick: What funny, sir? Edmund: (kicks Baldrick again) That funny. Baldrick: No sir, you mustn't do that to me sir, because that is a bourgois act of repression, sir. Edmund: What? Baldrick: I think I smelt it sir, there's something afoot in the wind. The huddled masses yearning to be free. Edmund: Baldrick, have you been through the diesel oil again? Baldrick: No sir, I've been sopping the milk of freedom. Already our Russian comrades are poised on the brink of Revolution. And here too, sir, the huddled what's-names such as myself, sir, are ready to throw off the hated oppressors like you and the Lieutenant. Present com pany accepted, sir. Edmund: Go and clean out the latrines. Baldrick: Yes sir, right away, sir. George: Now the reason why Chaplin is so funny, because he's part of a great British music hall tradition. Edmund: Oh yes, the Great British Music Hall Tradition. Two men, with incred- ibly unconvincing Cockney accents going, "what's up with you then? What's up with me then? Yeah, what's up with you then? (????????)" GET ON WITH IT!!! George: Now sir, that was funny! You should have gotten a part yourself! Edmund: Thank you, George, but if you don't mind, I'd rather have my tongue beaten wafer-thin by a steak tenderiser and then stapled to the floor with a croquet hoop. (loud voices are heard outside) Baldrick: (rushing in) Sir, sir, it's all over the trenches! Edmund: Well, mop it up then. Baldrick: No sir, the news. The Russian Revolution has started. The masses have risen up and shoveled their nobs! George: Well, hurrah! Edmund: (reading a newspaper) Oh no, the Russians have pulled out of the war. George: Well, we soon sawed them off, didn't we sir? Miserable slant-eye, sausage eating swine. Edmund: The Russians are on *our* side, George. George: Oh really? Edmund: And they've abandoned the Eastern Front. Baldrick: And they've overthrown Nicholas II who used to be bizzare. Edmund: Who used to be *the czar*, Baldrick. The point is, now that the Russians have made peace with the Kaiser. At this very moment, three quarters of a million Germans are leaving the Russian Front and coming over *here* with the express purpose of using my nipples for target practise. There's only one thing for it, I'll have to desert and I'm going to have to do it....right now. (enter General Melchett) Melchett: Are you leaving us, Blackadder? Edmund: No sir. Melchett: Well I'm relieved to hear it. I need you to help me shoot more deserters later on. There have been some subversive mutterings amongst the men. You'll recall the French army last year at Verdun where the top eschelons suffered from horrendeous uprisings from the bottom. Edmund: Yes sir, but surely that was traced to a shipment of garlic eclairs. Melchett: Nonsense Blackadder! It was bolshevist. Plain bolshevist! And now that the Ruskys have followed suit, I'm damned if I can let the same thing happen here. Edmund: Oh, and what are you going to do about it, sir? Melchett: I'm going to have a concert party to boost the men's morale. George: A concert party, well, hurrah! Melchett: You fancy an evening at a concert party, Blackadder? Edmund: Well frankly sir, I'd rather spend an evening on top of a stepladder in No Man's Land smoking cigarettes through an illuminous balacava (?). Melchett: Well, I didn't think it would be your cup of tea, but I do need someone to help me organise it, you know. Obviously not a tough grizzled old soldier like yourself, but some kind of dandified nancy-boy who will be prepared to spend the rest of the war in the London Palladium. Edmund: The show's going to the London Palladium, sir? Melchett: Oh yes of course. No good crushing the Revolution over here only to get back home to Blighty and find that everyone's wearing over- alls and breaking wind in the palaces of the mighty. Edmund: Good point, sir. Melchett: So the thing is, Blackadder, finding a man to organise a concert party is going t6o be damn difficult. So, I've come up with rather a cunning set of questions with which to test the candidate's suitability for the job. Edmund: And what sort of questions would these be, sir? Melchett: Well, the first question is, 'do you like Charlie Chaplin?' Edmund: (looks at George) Dismissed, Lieutenant. (George salutes and leaves) 'Do you like Charlie Chaplin?', yes that is a good question for a candidate, ah, to which my answer would of course be, 'yes, I love him, love him, sir, particularly the amusing kicks. George: That's what I said because I thought you said.... Edmund: (abruptly) Goodbye George. Melchett: And the second question is, 'do you like music hall?' Edmund: Ah, yes, another good question, sir. Again, my answer would have to be 'yes, absolutely love it.' (mimiking) "Oops, Mr. Rothschild, (??)" Melchett: Umm, yes. Well, it's in my view, Blackadder, that a person who would answer 'yes' to both questions would be ideal for the jo- (realises Edmund's early affirmative responses). Wait a minute. Edmund: What sir? Melchett: (laughs) Why, without knowing it, Blackadder, you've inadvertently shown me that you can do the job. Edmund: Have I sir? Melchett: Yes sir! You have, sir. And I want you to start work straight away. A couple of shows over the weekend and if all goes well, we'll start you off in London next Monday. Edmund: Oh...damn. Melchett: If you need any help fixing and carrying and backstage and so on, I'll lend you my driver if you like. (calls out) Bob?! (a woman enters....the driver Bob) Bob: (militaristically) Driver Parker reporting for duty, sir! Melchett: Alright, at ease, Bob, stand easy. Captain Blackadder, this is Bob. Edmund: Bob? Bob: Good morning, sir. Edmund: Unusual name for a girl? Melchett: Oh yes, it would be an unusual name for a girl, but it's a perfectly straightforward name for a young chap like you, eh Bob? Now Bob, I want you to bunk up with Captain Blackadder for a couple of days, al- right? Bob: Yes sir. Melchett: I think you'll find Bob just the man for this job, Blackadder. He has a splendid sense of humour. Edmund: He sir? He? He? Melchett: You see, you're laughing already! Well then, Bob, I'll leave you two together, why don't you get to know each other, play a game of crim- mage, have a smoke, something like that. They tell me that Captain Blackadder has rather a good line in rough shag. Um, I'm sure he'd be happy to fill your pipe. Carry on. (exits) Edmund: So you're a 'chap', are you Bob? Bob: Oh yes, sir. (laughs) Edmund: You wouldn't say you were a girl at all? Bob: Oh, definitely not, sir. I understand cricket, I fart in bed, everything. Edmund: Let me put it another way, Bob, you are a girl. And you're a girl with as much talent for disguise as a giraffe in dark glasses trying to get into a 'Polar Bears Only' golf club. Bob: Oh sir, please don't give me away, sir. I just wanted to be like my bro- thers and join up. I want to see how a real war is fought....so badly. Edmund: Well, you've come to the right place, Bob. A war hasn't been fought *this* badly since Olaf the Hairy, Chief of all the Vikings, accidently ordered 80,000 battle helmets with the horns on the *inside*. Bob: I want to do my bit for the boys, sir. Edmund: Oh really? Bob: I'll do anything, sir! Edmund: Yes, now keep that to yourself, if I was you. (Edmund and Bob go over repetoire for concert hall show) Edmund: Alright Bob, the second half start with Corporal Smith and Johnson as the Three Silly Twerps. Bob: Alright, sir. Edmund: The big joke being that there's only two of them. Baldrick: (laughing) I know that, it always cracks me up, sir. Edmund: Followed by Baldrick's impersonation of Charlie Chaplin. Bob, take a telegram. Bob: Yes sir. Edmund: Mr. C. Chaplin, Sennett Studios, Hollywood, California. (???) stop. Have discovered only person in the world less funny than you stop. Name Baldrick stop. yours, E. Blackadder stop.' Oh, and put a PS. 'Please please please stop.' Now after that, we have, ladies and gentlemen, the highlight of our show. Baldrick: Ta-da... (enter George in drag) George: I feel fantastic! Edmund: Gorgeous Georgina, the traditional soldier's drag act. Baldrick: You look absolutely lovely, sir. Edmund: Well Baldrick, you are lined (?), blind, or mad. The Lieutenant looks as all soldiers look on these occasions, about as feminine as W. G. Grace. What are you going to give them, George? George: Well, I thought one or two cheeky gags, one followed by 'She was only the ironmonger's daughter but she knew a surprising amount about fish as well'. Edmund: (sarcatic) Inspired. Well, at least you made an effort with the dress, what is your costume, Baldrick? Baldrick: I'm in it, sir. Edmund: I see. So your Charlie Chaplin costume consists of only that hat. Baldrick: Except that in this box, I've a dead slug as a brillaint false moustache. Edmund: Yes, it's only quite brilliant, I fear. How, for instance, are you to attach it to your face? Baldrick: Well, I was hoping to persuade the slug to cling on, sir. Edmund: Baldrick, the slug is dead. If it failed to cling on to life, I see no reason that it should cling on to your upper lip. George: Baldrick, Baldrick come on. Slugs are always a problem. What you do is screw your face up like this you see and you can clamp it between your top lip and your nose. Baldrick: (leaning backward) What? Like this, sir? George: See, that's it, that's good. Sir, sir, there's a visitor to see you. Edmund: (faking, but convincing) Good Lord, Mr. Chaplin! This is indeed an honour. Why, this calls for some sort of celebration. Baldrick, Bal- drick! George: Sir, that is extraordinary, because, because this isn't Chaplin at all. This *is* Baldrick. Baldrick: It is, it's *me*, sir! Edmund: I know, I know. I was, in fact being sarcastic. George: Oh, I see. Umm. Edmund: Everything goes above your head, doesn't it, George? You should go to Jamaica and become a limbo dancer. (at the concert....backstage, George is seen giving encores) Bob: They love him, sir. We're a hit! Edmund: Yes, in one short evening, I've become the most successful impresario since the manager of the Roman Coliseum thought of putting the Christ- ians and the lions on the same bill. Baldrick: Sir, some people seem to think I was best! Do you agree? Edmund: Baldrick, in the Amazonian rain forests, there are tribes of Indians yet untouched by civilisation who could develop more convincing Char- lie Chaplin impressionists. Baldrick: Thank you very much, sir. Bob: (refering to George aka Georgina): He's coming out. George: What do you think, Bob, one more? God, I love attention! (goes off stage to join Edmund and company) It's in my blood and soul. Bal- drick, put this in some water, will you? (Baldrick dunks the flowers into the vase upside-down) George: I need that applause in the same way that a osler needs his osle. Bob: Well done, sir! George: (being modest) No, sir, I really, I was hopeless. I mean, tell me honestly, sir, I was, wasn't I? Edmund: Well... George: No, no, no, come on, sir. Out with it, cos I really need to know, I was hopeless. Edmund: No.... George: You're trying to be nice and that's very sweet of you, but sir, please, I can take it. I was hoepless. Edmund: George, you were bloody *awful*! (George sobs.) Edmund: But you can't argue with the box office. Personally, I thought you were the least convincing female impressionist since Tarzan went through Jane's handbag and ate her lipstick. But I'm clearly in the minority. Look out London, here we come! (at Melchett's headquarters, 'HQ'. Capt. Darling sits at his desk) Edmund: Ah, Captain Darling. Darling: Ah, Captain Blackadder. Edmund: I must say, I had an absolutely splendid evening. Oh, glad you enjoyed the show. Darling: The show? I couldn't go to the show. Important regimental business. Edmund: A lorry load of paper clips arrived? Darling: Two lorry loads, actually. Melchett: (enters) Ah, welcome to the great director, Miestrum. Edmund: You enjoyed it, sir? Melchett: Well, it was mostly awful, but I enjoyed the slug balance. Edmund: Private Baldrick, sir. Melchett: That's right, yes. The slug fell off a couple of times, but it was....you can't have everything, can't you? I just suggest a bit more practise and prehaps a sparkly costume for the slug. Edmund: I'll pass that on, sir. Melchett: But I do have certain others reasons for believing the show to be nothing but a triumph. Captain Darling has your travel arrangements, ticket to Dover, rooms at the Ritz and so forth. Edmund: Oh, thank you sir. Melchett: However, there is one small thing you can do for me. Edmund: Yes? Melchett: Captain Blackadder, I should esteem it a single honour if you would allow me to escort your leading lady to the regimental ball this evening. Edmund: My leading lady? Melchett: The fair Georgina. Edmund: Ah, ha-ha, very amusing. Melchett: You think she'll laugh in my face? I'm too old, too crusty? Edmund: Uh, no, no. It's just as her director, I'm afraid I could not allow it. Melchett: I can always find another director who *would* allow it! Edmund: Quite. I'll see what I can do, but I must insist that she be home by midnight and that there'll be no hanky-panky, sir, whatsoever. Melchett: I shall, of course, respect your wishes, Blackadder. However I don't think you need to be quite so protective. I'm sure she's a girl with a great deal of spunk than most women you can find. Edmund: Oh, dear me. (at the barracks) George: Absolutely not, sir. It's profoundly immoral, and utterly wrong. I will not do it. Edmund: We can always find another leading lady. George: Well, the dress will need a clean. Edmund: Excellent. Now the important thing is, that Melchett should, under no circumstances, realise that you are a man. George: Yes, yes, I understand that. Edmund: In order to insure this, there are three basic rules. One, you must never, I repeat, never remove your wig. George: Right. Edmund: Second, never say anything. Tell him at the beginning of the evening that you're saving your voice for the opening night in London. George: Excellent, sir. And what's the third? Edmund: The third is most important, don't get drunk and let him shag you on the veranda. (in Melchett's private quarters. The general puts on an impressive bemedaled red jacket. Darling is with him.) Melchett: (after a few sounds of self-satisfaction) How do I look, Darling? Darling: Girl-bait, sir. Pure bloody girl-bait. Melchett: Moustache? Bushy enough? Darling: Like a private hedge, sir. Melchett: Good, because I want to catch a particularly beautiful creature in this bush tonight. Darling: You'll have her coming out of your moustache for a week, sir. Melchett: God, it's a spankingly beautiful world and tonight's my night. I know what I'll say to her. 'Darling...' Darling: (mistaken that the general's addressing him) Yes sir? Melchett: What? Darling: Um, I don't know, sir. Melchett: Well don't butt in! (exhales) 'I want to make you happy, darling'. Darling: Well, that's very kind of you sir. Melchett: Will you kindly stop interrupting? If you don't listen, how can you tell me what you think? (continues) 'I want to make you happy, dar- ling. I want to build a nest for your ten tiny toes. I want to cover every inch of your gorgeous body in pether and sneeze all over you.' Darling: I really think I must protest! Melchett: What is the matter with you, Darling? Darling: Well, it's all so sudden, I mean the nest bit's fine, but the pether business is definitely out! Melchett: How dare you tell me how I may or may not treat my beloved Georgina? Darling: Georgina? Melchett: Yes, I'm working on what to say to her this evening. Darling: Oh yes. Of course. Thank God. Melchett: Alright? Darling: Yes, I'm listening, sir. Melchett: Honestly Darling, you really are the most graceless, dim-witted pumpkin I ever met. Darling: I don't think you should say that to her. (Melchett groans) (at the barracks) Edmund: Where's that George? It's three o'clock in the morning, he should be careful wandering the trench at night with nothing to protect his honour but a cricket box. George (entering): Hello Captain. Edmund: About time, where the hell have you been? George: Well I don't know, it's all been like a dream, my very first ball. The music, the dancing, the champagne, my mind is a mad world. Half whispered conversation with the promise of indisretion ever hanging in the air. Edmund: No, that old stoke Melchett tried for a snog behind the fruit cup. George: Certainly not! The general behaved like a perfect gentleman. We tired the moon with our talking about everything and nothing. The war, mar- riage, proposed changes of the LBW rule. Edmund: Melchett isn't married, is he? George: No, no, all his life, he's been waiting to meet the perfect woman. And tonight, he did. Edmund: Some poor unfortunate had Old Walrus-face dribbling in her ear all evening, did she? George: Well yes. As a matter of fact, I did have to drape a napkin over my shoulder, yes. Edmund: George, are you trying to tell me that you're the General's perfect woman? George: Well, yes, I rather think I am. Edmund: Well thank God the horny old blighthead didn't ask you to marry him. (George stares out to Edmund, affirming this fact in silence) Edmund: He did?! Well how did you get out of that one? George: Well, to be honest, sir, I'm not absolutely certain that I did. Edmund: WHAT?! George: You don't understand what it was like, sir. You know, the candles, the music, the huge moustache, I can't remember it. (?) Edmund: You said 'yes'? George: Oh, well he is a general, I didn't really feel I could refuse. He might have me court-martialed. Edmund: Whereas on the other hand, of course, he's going to give you the Victoria Cross when he lifts up your frock on the wedding night and finds himself looking at the blast turkey at the shop. George: Yes, I, I, I know it's mess, ah but, you see, he got me scriffy and then when he looked into my eyes and said 'Chipmunk, I love you.' Edmund: CHIPMUNK??? George: It's a special name for me, you see, he says my nose looks just like a chipmunk's. Edmund: Oh God! We're in serious serious trouble here. If the General ever finds out that Gorgeous Georgina is, in fact, a strapping six footer from the rough end of the trench, which will precipitate the fastest execution since someone said, 'this Guy Fawlkes bloke, do we let him off, or wot?' (phone rings, Edmund answers it) Edmund: Hello? Yes sir. Straight away sir. (hangs up) That was your finacee, 'Chipmunk'. He wants to see me. If I should die, think only this of me, 'I'll be back to get ya!'. (at HQ again) Edmund: Sir, I can explain everything. Melchett: Can you, Blackadder? Can you? Edmund: Well.....no sir, not really. Melchett: I thought not, I thought not. Who can explain the mysteries of love? I'm in love with Georgina, Blackadder. I'm going to marry her on Sa- turday and I want you to be my best man. Edmund: I don't think that would be a very good idea, sir. Melchett: And why not? Edmund: Because there's something wrong with your finacee, sir. Melchett: Oh my God, she's not Welsh, is she? Edmund: No sir. Um, it's a terrible story, but true. Just a few minutes ago Georgina arrived unexpectedly in my trench. She was literally dancing with joy as if something wonderful had happened to her. Melchett: Makes sense. Edmund: Unfortunately, she was in such a daze, danced straight throught the trench and out into No Man's Land. I tried to stop her, but before I could say, 'Don't tread on a mine', she trod on a mine. (Melchett starts to sob) Edmund: When I say 'a mine', it was a cluster of mines, and she was blown to smitereens, rocketed up into the air, said something I couldn't quite catch, totally incomprehensible to me, something like, 'Tell him, his little chipmunk will love him forever'. (Melchett howls in sadness) Darling: It's heartnreaking, sir. Edmund: I'm sorry sir. Melchett: (recovering) Oh well, can't be helped, can't be helped. Darling: Jolly bad luck, sir. Of course, on top of everything else, without your leading lady, you won't be able to put on your show. So no show, no London Palladium. Edmund: On the contrary, I'm simply intending to rename it, the Georgina Melchett Memorial Show. Melchett: Oh no, Georgina was the only thing that made the show come alive. Apart from her, it was all awful! Darling: Awful! Melchett: You'll never find a girl like Georgina by tommorrow. Edmund: Well, it's funny you should say that sir, because I think I already have. Melchett: Who is she? Darling: Who is she? (back at the barracks) George: (as his 'normal' male self) So, come on, sir, who is she? Edmund: Well, that's the problem. I haven't a bloody clue! The only exacting woman around here is carved out of stone called 'Venus' and is stan- ding in a fountain in the town square with water coming out of her armpits. George: So we're a bit stuck. Bob: (passing through) Morning chaps. Edmund and George: Morning Bob. Edmund: You can say that again, George. We're in a stickier situation since Sticky the Stick Insect got stuck on a sticky bun. We are in trouble. (enter Baldrick in drag) Baldrick: No anymore sir. May I present my cunning plan. Edmund: Don't be ridiculous, Baldrick. Can you sing, can you dance? Or are you offering to be sawn in half? Baldrick: I don't think those things are important in a modern marriage, sir. I offer simple home cooking. Edmund: Our plan is to find a new leading lady for our show. What is your plan? Baldrick: My plan is that I will marry General Melchett. I am the other woman. George: Well, congradulations Baldrick. I hope you will be very happy. Baldrick: I will, sir, cos when I get back from honeymoon, I will be a member of the aristocracy and you will have to call me 'M'lady'. Edmund: What happened to your Revolutionary principles, Baldrick? I thought you hated the aristocracy. Baldrick: I'm working to bring down the system from within, sir. I'm a sort of a Frozen Horse. Edmund: *Trojan House*, Baldrick. Baldrick: Anmyway, I can't see what's so stupid about marry into wealth for money and not having to sleep in a puddle. Edmund: Baldrick, NO! It's the worst plan since Abraham Lincoln said, 'Oh I'm sick of kicking around the house tonight. Let's take in a show.' And for a start, General Melchett is in mourning for the woman of his dreams. He's unlikely to be in the mood to marry a two legged badger wrapped in a curtain.. Anyway we are looking for a great entertainer and you're the worst entertainer since St. Paul the Evangelist toured Palestine with his trampoline act. Nah, we have to find somebody else. George: What about Corporal Cartwright, sir? Edmund: Corporal Cartwright looks like an orangatang. I've heard of the Bearded Lady, but the All Over Body Hair Lady simply just isn't on. George: Willis? Edmund: Too short. George: Petheridge? Edmund: Too old. George: Taplowe? Edmund: Too dead. Ah, this is hopeless. There just isn't anyone! (Bob is heard singing) Bob: 'Goodbyeee, goodbyeee, wipe the tear, baby dear, from your eyeee'. Edmund: What am I doing? (calls out) Bob! Bob: (naked but for a towel): Sir? George: What a brilliant idea! Bob, can you think of anyone who can be our leading lady? (at another concert performance) George: What do you think, Bob, one more? Bob: No George, always leave them hungry. Edmund: Congradulations, Bob. I must admit, I thought you were bloody mar- vellous. Bob: Thank you sir. Permission to slip into something more uncomfortable, sir. Edmund: Permission granted. Baldrick: Oh sir, it's going to be wonderful. Not just for me, but for my little partner, Graham. Doing our tour halfway 'round the world. Edmund: Yes, from Shaftsbury Avenue to the Co^te du Jour, they'll be saying, 'I like the little black one, but who's that burkey sitting on it?' Baldrick: I'm not with you, sir. Edmund: No, of course not. But don't worry, we'll have years in luxury hotels for me to explain. Now get packing, get packing. The Burtrain (?) leaves at six and we're going to be on it. Darling: (entering) Blackadder. Edmund: Ah Darling, everything alright? Darling: Oh yes. Edmund: Got the tickets? Darling: Oh yes. Melchett: (calling, enters) Blackadder!? Edmund: Oh hi, General. Enjoy the show? Melchett: Don't be ridiculous, the worst evening I've ever spent in my life! (paces forward toward Edmund) Edmund: (pacing backward) I'm sorry? Melchett: (yells) Will you stand still when I'm talking to you! If by a man's works showing (??) that you were a steaming pile of horse manure. Edmund: But surely, sir, the show was a trimuph. Melchett: (yells real loud) TRIMUPH? The Three Twerps were one Twerp short, again; the Slug Balancer seems now to be doing some feeble impres- sion of Buster Keaton; and worst of all, the crowning turd in the waterpipe, that revolting drag act in the end. Edmund: Drag? Melchett: Yes, poor Bob Parker's been made to look a total ass! With that reedy voice and that stupid effeminate dancing. Darling: So the show's cancelled, permenantly. (rips up plane tickets) Edmund: But what about the men's morale, sir, with the Russians out of the war and everything? Melchett: Oh for goodness sake, Blackadder, have you been living in a cave? The Amercians joined the war yesterday. Edmund: So how is that going to improve the men's morale, sir? Melchett: OOooooohhh, because you jibbering imbecile, they've brought with them the largest collection of Charlie Chaplin films in existence. I've lost patience with you. Fill him in, Darling. (exits) Darling: We received a telegram this morning from Mr. Chaplin himself, at Sennett Studios: (reads) 'Twice nightly screening of my films in trenches, excellent idea stop. But must insist E. Blackadder be projectionist. Oh PS, don't let him ever stop.' Edmund: Oh great. Darling: No hard feelings, Blackadder. Edmund: Not at all Darling. Uh, care for a licoriche assortment(?)? Darling: (accepts it....which turns out to be Baldrick's dead slug) Well, thank you. (eats it) *****FINIS****Back to top of Part 4
Scene 1: BA's Dugout
--------------------
[BA is listening to his phonograph. Artillery firing outside is causing the
record to skip frequently. Annoyed, BA storms outside.]
Scene 2: In The Trench
----------------------
[Lt. George is in the trench, peering through a pair of binoculars across
No Man's Land.]
BA Oh, God, why do they bother?
George Well, it's to kill Jerry, isn't it, Sir?
BA Yes, but Jerry is safe underground in concrete bunkers.
We've shot off over a million cannon shells and what's
the result? One dachshund with a slight limp!
[BA yells at the artillery.]
BA Shut up!
[Artillery ceases. George looks bemused.]
BA Thank you! Right, I'm off to bed where I intend to
sleep until my name changes to Rip Van Adder.
[BA goes into his dugout.]
Scene 3: BA's Dugout
--------------------
[The phonograph is still playing. BA stops it and lies down on his cot.
An instant after his head touches the pillow there is the sound of
aircraft and gunfire from outside. BA rises from his cot.]
BA Oh, God! Bloody Germans! They can't take a joke, can
they? Just because we take a few pot-shots at them,
they have to have an air-raid to get their own back.
Where are our airforce?
[BA moves over to the table. A field-telephone sits on the table]
BA They're meant to defend us against this sort of thing.
[Noise outside continues. BA puts on steel helmet, picks up telephone and
dives under the table.]
BA Right, that's it!
[Picks up receiver.]
BA Hello? Yes, yes, I'd like to leave a message for the
head of the Flying Corps, please. That's Air Chief
Marshall Sir Hugh Massingburg-Massingburg, VC, DFC and
bar. Message reads "Where are you, you bastard?"
[Private Baldrick enters the dugout.]
Baldrick Here I am, Sir.
[BA puts down the receiver.]
BA For God's sake, Baldrick, take cover.
Baldrick Why's that, Sir?
BA Because there's an air-raid going on and I don't want to
have to write to your mother at London Zoo and tell her
that her only human child is dead.
[Baldrick moves under the table with BA]
Baldrick All right, Sir. It's just that I didn't know there was an
air-raid on. I couldn't hear anything over the noise of
the terrific display by our wonderful boys of the Royal
Flying Corps, Sir.
BA What?
[George enters the dugout.]
George I say, those chaps can't half thunder in their airborne
steeds, can't they just?
[George notices BA and Baldrick cowering under the table.]
George Oh, hello, what's going on here? Game of hide and seek?
Excellent! Right now, I'll go and count to a hundred.
Er, no. Better make it five, actually . . .
BA George . . .
George Er. Oh, it's sardines. Oh, excellent! That's my favourite
one, that.
[BA rises from under the table.]
BA George . . .
George Yes, Sir?
BA Shut up, and never say anything again as long as you live.
George Right you are, Sir.
[BA removes helmet. George is quiet for a few seconds.]
George Crikey, but what a show it was, Sir. Lord Flasheart's
Flying Aces. How we cheered when they spun. How we
shouted when they dived. How we applauded when one chap
got sliced in half by his own propeller. Well, it's all
part of the joke for those magnificent men in their
flying machines.
[Sound of plane plummeting, then crashing outside.]
BA For `magnificent men', read `biggest showoffs since Lady
Godiva entered the Royal Enclosure at Ascot claiming she
had literally nothing to wear'. I don't care how many
times they go up-diddly-up-up, they're still gits!
Baldrick Oh, come on, Sir! I'd love to be a flier. Up there where
the air is clear.
BA The chances of the air being clear anywhere near you,
Baldrick, are zero!
Baldrick Oh, Sir. It'd be great, swooping and diving.
[Baldrick starts his impression of a Sopwith Camel.]
BA Baldrick . . .
[Baldrick drones on . . .]
BA Baldrick . . .
[Baldrick stops droning on as BA interjects a third time.]
BA Baldrick, what are you doing?
Baldrick I'm a Sopwith Camel, Sir.
BA Oh, it is a Sopwith Camel. Ah, right, I always get confused
between the sound of a Sopwith Camel and the sound of a
malodourous runt wasting everybodys time. Now if you
can do without me in the nursery for a while, I'm going
to get some fresh air.
[BA leaves the dugout, picking up his pipe on the way out.]
Scene 4: In The Trench
----------------------
[As he emerges from the dugout BA sighs and prepares to light his pipe.
Squadron Commander Lord Flasheart jumps down from his crashed plane.]
Flasheart Ha! Eat knuckle, Fritz!
[Flasheart knocks BA to the ground with his pistol, then puts a foot on
BA's chest.]
Flasheart Aha! How disgusting. A Boche on the sole of my boot.
I shall have to find a patch of grass to wipe it on.
Probably get shunned in the Officers' Mess. Sorry about
the pong you fellows, trod in a Boche and can't get rid
of the whiff.
[BA rises.]
BA Do you think we could dispense with the hilarious doggy-do
metaphor for a moment? I'm not a Boche. This is a British
trench.
[Flasheart puts his pistol away.]
Flasheart Is it? Oh, that's a piece of luck. Thought I'd landed
sausage-side! Ha!
[Flasheart picks up the receiver of a field-telephone lying by the dugout
entrance.]
Flasheart Mind if I use your phone? If word gets out that I'm
missing, five hundred girls will kill themselves. I wouldn't
want them on my conscience, not when they ought to be on
my face! Huh!
[Flasheart kicks the phone into action.]
Flasheart Hi, Flasheart here. Yeah, cancel the state funeral, tell
the King to stop blubbing. Flash is not dead. I simply
ran out of juice! Yeah, and before all the girls start
saying "Oh, what's the point of living anymore", I'm talking
about petrol! Woof, woof!
Yeah, I dumped the kite on the proles, so send a car. Er,
General Melchett's driver should do. She hangs around with
the big nobs, so she'll be used to a fellow like me! Woof,
woof!
BA Look, do you think you could make your obscene phone call
somewhere else?
[Flasheart is still on the phone and ignores BA.]
Flasheart No, not in half an hour, you rubber-desk johnny. Send the
bitch with the wheels right now or I'll fly back to
England and give your wife something to hang her towels on.
[Flasheart throws down the receiver.]
Flasheart Okay, dig out your best booze and let's talk about me
'til the car comes. You must be pretty impressed having
Squadron Commander the Lord Flasheart drop in on your
squalid bit of line.
BA Actually, no. I was more impressed by the contents of my
handkerchief the last time I blew my nose.
Flasheart Yeah, like hell. Huh, huh. You've probably got little
piccies of me on the walls of your dugout, haven't you?
[Flasheart tickles the front of BA's trousers.]
Flasheart I bet you go all girly and giggly every time you look at
me.
[Flasheart twists BA's John Thomas. BA (naturally) screams.]
BA I'm afraid not. Unfortunately, most of the infantry think
you're a prat. Ask them who they'd prefer to meet:
Squadron Commander Flasheart and the man who cleans out
the public toilets in Aberdeen, and they'd go for Wee Jock
"Poo-Pong" McPlop, every time.
[Flasheart laughs, then belts BA, knocking him to the floor.]
[Flasheart goes into the dugout.]
Scene 5: BA's Dugout
--------------------
[George and Baldrick are discussing the Flying Aces.]
George . . . so when that fellow looped-the-loop, I honestly
thought that, that, that . . .
[Flasheart enters, saluting. George sees him. BA enters behind Flasheart.]
George My God!
Flasheart Yes, I suppose I am.
George Lord Flasheart, this is the greatest honour of my life.
I hope I snuff it right now to preserve this moment
forever.
BA It can be arranged.
Baldrick Lord Flasheart, I want to learn to write so I can send a
letter home about this golden moment.
Flasheart So all the fellows hate me, eh? Not a bit of it. I'm
your bloody hero, eh, old scout?
[Flasheart playfully scuffs up Baldrick's hair, then notices that this
action has left something unpleasant on his glove.]
Flasheart Jesus!
[Flasheart wipes his glove on BA's shirt.]
Baldrick My Lord, I've got every cigarette card they ever printed of
you. My whole family took up smoking just so that we could
get the whole set. My grandmother smoked herself to
death so we could afford the album.
Flasheart Of course she did, of course she did, the poor love-crazed
old octogenarian.
[Flasheart moves to hug and kiss Baldrick, then thinks better of it.]
Flasheart Well, all right, you fellows. Let's sit us down and yarn
about how amazingly attractive I am.
BA Yes, would you excuse me for a moment? I've got some
urgent business. There's a bucket outside I've got to be
sick into.
[Flasheart takes the mickey out of BA's holier-than-thou attitude.]
Flasheart All right, you chaps, let's get comfy.
[Flasheart sits down in chair. George sits down on BA's cot. Flasheart
turns to Baldrick.]
Flasheart You look like a decent British bloke. I'll park the old
booties on you if that's okay.
Baldrick It would be an honour, my Lord.
[Baldrick kneels down on all fours in front of Flasheart.]
Flasheart Of course it would! Ha!
[Flasheart rests his feet on Baldrick's back and sighs.]
Flasheart Have you any idea what it's like to have the wind
rushing through your hair?
George No, Sir.
[Flasheart breaks wind in Baldrick's face.]
Flasheart He has!
Scene 6: BA's Dugout
--------------------
[Some time has elapsed. Flasheart is regaling an enthralled George with
stories. BA is reading a copy of `King and Country' at the table,
uninterested in what Flasheart has to say.]
Flasheart . . . so I flew straight through her bedroom window,
popped a box of chocs on the dressing table,
machine-gunned my telephone number into the wall, and
then shot off and shagged her sister.
[As George creases up, Bobby Parkhurst enters the dugout.]
Bobby Ahem. Driver Parkhurst reporting for duty, my Lord . . .
Flasheart Well, well, well. If it isn't little Bobby Parkhurst--
saucier than a direct hit on a Heinz factory.
Bobby I've come to pick you up.
Flasheart Well, that's how I like my girls--direct and to my point.
Woof!
Bobby Woof!
[Flasheart removes his feet from Baldrick, grabs Bobby and puts her across
his lap and begins to snog her. During the snog BA sarcastically checks
his watch.]
Flasheart Ah! Tally ho, then! Back to the bar. You should join
the Flying Corps, George. That's the way to fight a war.
Tasty tuck, soft beds and a uniform so smart it's got a
PhD from Cambridge.
[Flasheart gestures at Baldrick.]
Flasheart You could even bring the breath monster here. Anyone can
be a navigator if he can tell his arse from his elbow.
BA Well, that's Baldrick out, I fear . . .
Flasheart We're always looking for talented types to join the
Twenty Minuters.
BA . . . and there goes George.
[Flasheart rises from the chair, lifting Bobby in his arms.]
Flasheart Tally ho, then, Bobby. Hush, here comes a whizz-bang and I
think you know what I'm talking about! Woof!
Bobby Woof!
[Flasheart and Bobby leave.]
BA God, it's like Crufts in here!
[Baldrick and George stand.]
George I say, Sir. What a splendid notion. The Twenty Minuters.
Soft tucker, tasty beds, fluffy uniforms.
Baldrick Begging your permission, Sir, but why do they call them the
Twenty Minuters?
George Ah, now, yes, . . .
[George moves across the dugout to get his card album.]
George . . . now this one is in my Brooke Bond `Book of the Air'.
[George returns to the cot and sits down.]
George Now, you have to collect all the cards and then stick them
into this wonderful presentation booklet. Er . . .
[Baldrick sits down next to George.]
George Ah, here we are: Twenty Minuters. Oh, damn! Haven't got
the card yet. Ah, but the caption says `Twenty minutes is
the average amount of time new pilots spend in the air.'
BA Twenty minutes.
George That's right, Sir.
BA I had a twenty hour watch yesterday, with four hours
overtime, in two feet of water.
[George, then Baldrick, rise from the cot and move to the table.]
George Well then, for goodness sake, Sir, why don't we join?
Baldrick Yeah, be better than just sitting around here all day on our
elbows.
BA No thank you. No thank you. I have no desire to hang
around with a bunch of upper-class delinquents, do twenty
minutes work, and then spend the rest of the day loafing
about in Paris drinking gallons of champagne and having
dozens of moist, pink, highly-experienced young French
peasant girls galloping up and down my . . . Hang on!
Scene 7: Captain Darling's Office
---------------------------------
[Captain Darling is writing at his desk. There is a knock at the office door.]
Darling Come!
[BA enters the office.]
Darling Ah, Captain Blackadder.
BA Good morning, Captain Darling.
Darling What do you want?
BA You're looking so well.
Darling I'm a busy man, Blackadder. Let's hear it, whatever it is.
BA Well, you know, Darling, every . . . every man has a
dream . . .
Darling Hmmm . . .
BA . . . and when I was a small boy, I used to watch the marsh
warblers swooping in my mothers undercroft, and I remember
thinking `Will men ever dare do the same?' And you know . . .
[Darling rises from his desk.]
Darling Oh, you want to join the Royal Flying Corps?
BA Oh, that's a thought. Could I?
Darling No, you couldn't! Goodbye!
[Darling sits back down.]
BA Look, come on, Darling, just give me an application form.
Darling It's out of the question. This is simply a ruse to waste
five months of training after which you'll claim you can't
fly after all because it makes your ears go `pop'. Come on,
I wasn't born yesterday, Blackadder.
BA More's the pity, we could have started your personality from
scratch. So, the training period is five months, is it?
Darling It's no concern of yours if it's five years and comes with a
free holiday in Tunisia, contraceptives supplied. Besides,
they wouldn't admit you. It's not easy getting transfers,
you know.
[Darling returns to his work.]
BA Oh, you've tried it yourself, have you?
[Darling breaks his pencil.]
Darling No, I haven't.
BA Trust you to try and skive off to some cushy option.
Darling There's nothing cushy about life in the Womens Auxiliary
Balloon Corps.
[BA raises his eyebrows at this.]
Darling Ah . . .
[The door to General Melchett's office opens and the General and George
enter. BA and Darling snap to attention. BA salutes.]
George . . . and then the bishop said "I'm awfully sorry, I
didn't realise you meant organist."
[Melchett chortles.]
Melchett Thank you, George. At ease, everyone. Now, where's my
map? Come on.
Darling Sir!
[Darling hands Melchett his map.]
Melchett Thank you.
[Melchett unfurls the map the wrong way.]
Melchett God, it's a barren, featureless desert out there, isn't it.
Darling The other side, Sir!
[Melchett turns the map over. BA turns to George.]
BA Hello, George. What are you doing here?
George Me, Sir? I just popped in to join the Royal Flying Corps.
[Melchett looks up from his map.]
Melchett Hello, Blackadder. What are you doing here?
BA Me, Sir? I just popped in to join the Royal Flying Corps.
Darling And, of course, I said . . .
Melchett Bravo, I hope, Darling. Because, you know, I've always had
my doubts about you trenchy-type fellows. Always suspected
there might be a bit too much of the battle-dodging,
nappy-wearing, I'd-rather-have-a-cup-of-tea-than-charge-
stark-naked-at-Jerry about you. But if you're willing to
join the Twenty Minuters then you're all right by me and
welcome to marry my sister any day.
Darling Are you sure about this, Sir?
Melchett Certainly, you should hear the noise she makes when she eats
a boiled egg. Be glad to get her out of the house. So,
report back here 09:00 hours for your basic training.
Scene 8: Captain Darling's Office
---------------------------------
[It is the next morning. Darling's office has been set out with chairs and
there is a blackboard with a chalk picture of a Sopwith Camel on it. BA and
George are in the front row of seats. There are three other trainees.
Darling is at his desk at the back.]
George Crikey! I'm looking forward to today. Up-diddly-up,
down-diddly-down, whoops-poop, twiddly-dee, a decent scrap
with the fiendish Red Baron, a bit of a jolly old crash
landing behind enemy lines, capture, torture, escape and
then back home in time for tea and medals.
BA George, who's using the family brain-cell at the moment?
This is just the beginning of the training. The beginning
of five long months of very clever, very dull men looking
at machinery.
[Flasheart is heard in the corridor.]
Flasheart Hey, girls! Look at my machinery!
[The sound of screaming women is heard from the corridor. Flasheart enters
Darling's office, zipping up his flys. He is carrying a stick. All present
rise to attention.]
Flasheart Enter a man who has no underwear. Ask me why.
All except BA Why do you have no underwear, Lord Flash?
Flasheart Because the pants haven't been built yet that'll take the
job on.
[Flasheart performs a groinal thrust.]
Flasheart And that's the type of guy who's doing the training around
here. Sit down!
[All sit. Flasheart notices BA.]
Flasheart Well, well, well, well, well. If it isn't old Captain
Slack Bladder.
BA Blackadder.
Flasheart Couldn't resist it, eh, Slack Bladder? Told you you thought
I was great. All right men, let's do-oo-oo it! The first
thing to remember is: always treat your kite . . .
[Flasheart taps the picture of the Sopwith Camel with his stick.]
Flasheart . . . like you treat your woman!
[Flasheart whips the air with his cane.]
George How, how do you mean, Sir? Do you mean, do you mean take her
home at weekends to meet your mother?
Flasheart No, I mean get inside her five times a day and take her to
heaven and back.
[George smirks.]
BA I'm beginning to see why the Suffragette Movement want the
vote.
Flasheart Hey, hey! Any bird who wants to chain herself to my railings
and suffer a jet movement gets my vote. Er, right. Well,
I'll see you in ten minutes for take-off.
[Flasheart begins to leave.]
BA Hang on, hang on! What about the months of training?
Flasheart Hey, wet-pants! This isn't the Womens Auxiliary Balloon
Corps. You're in the Twenty Minuters now.
[Darling stands up.]
Darling Er, Sir . . .
Flasheart Yes . . .
Darling . . . Sir!
Flasheart . . . Prat at the back!
Darling I think we'd all be intrigued to know why you're called the
Twenty Minuters.
George Oh, Mister Thicko. Imagine not knowing that.
Flasheart Well, it's simple! The average life expectancy for a new
pilot is twenty minutes.
Darling Ah . . .
[Darling sits.]
BA Life expectancy . . . of twenty minutes . . .
Flasheart That's right. Goggles on, chocks away, last one back's a
homo! Hurray!
[Flasheart runs out of the room.]
Trainee Pilots Hurray!
[Trainee Pilots run after Flasheart.]
BA So, we take off in ten minutes, we're in the air for twenty
minutes, which means we should be dead by twenty five to ten.
George Hairy blighters, Sir. This is a bit of a turn-up for the
plus fours.
[Darling rises and moves to the door.]
Darling I shouldn't worry about it too much, Blackadder. Flying's
all about navigation. As long as you've got a good navigator
I'm sure you'll be fine.
[Darling sniggers as he opens the door to reveal Baldrick in flying gear.
Baldrick enters. Darling leaves.]
Scene 9: In The Air
-------------------
[BA and Baldrick are flying in a Sopwith Camel. George is another Camel.]
BA Actually, they're right. This is a doddle.
Baldrick Careful, Sir!
BA Whoops, whoops, a little wobble there. I'll get the hang
of it, don't worry. All right, Baldrick, how many rounds
have we got?
Baldrick Er, five hundred, Sir. Cheese and tomato for you, rat for
me.
George Tally-bally ho!
Baldrick What's this?
[Baldrick climbs out of his seat.]
BA Baldrick! Baldrick! Will you stop arsing about and get back
in the plane!
Baldrick Ooh, ooh, ooh! Hey, Sir, I can see a pretty red plane from
up here. Ha ha! Woo woo!
von Richthoven Schnell! Da unten! Ha ha ha!
[von Richthoven shoots out one of the wing-supports on Blackadders aircraft.]
BA Oh no! Watch out, Baldrick, it's stood right on our tail.
Yes, now this is developing into a distinctly boring
situation, but we're still on our side of the line so I'll
crash-land and claim my ears went `pop' first time out.
Baldrick Ooh, let's hope we fall on something soft!
BA Fine. I'll try and aim between General Melchett's ears!
Scene 10: A German Prison Cell
------------------------------
[BA is pacing about the cell. Baldrick is seated.]
BA I don't believe it. A German prison cell. For two and a
half years the Western Front has been as likely to move as a
Frenchman who lives next door to a brothel, and last night the
Germans advance a mile and we land on the wrong side.
Baldrick Ooh, dear, Captain B, my tummy's gone all squirty.
BA That means you're scared, Baldrick, and you're not the only
one. I couldn't be more petrified if a wild rhinoceros had
just come home from a hard day at the swamp and found me
wearing his pyjamas, smoking his cigars and in bed with his
wife.
Baldrick I've heard what these Germans will do, Sir. They'll have
their wicked way with anything of woman-born.
BA Well, in that case, Baldrick, you're quite safe. However,
the Teutonic reputation for brutality is well-founded: their
operas last three or four days; and they have no word
for `fluffy'.
Baldrick I want my mum!
BA Yes, it'd be good to see her. I should imagine a maternally-
outraged gorilla could be a useful ally when it comes to the
final scrap.
[Footsteps are heard outside the cell.]
BA Prepare to die like a man, Baldrick.
[Baldrick stands.]
BA Or as close as you can come to a man without actually
shaving the palms of your hands.
[The door opens and Oberleutnant von Gerhardt enters.]
von Gerhardt Good evening. I am Oberleutnant von Gerhardt. I have
a message from the Baron von Richthoven, the greatest living
German.
BA Which, considering that his competition consists entirely
of very fat men in leather shorts burping to the tune of
`She'll Be Coming Round The Mountain', is no great
achievement.
von Gerhardt Quiet!
[von Gerhardt slaps Baldrick across the face. Baldrick falls against the
wall.]
BA And what is your message?
von Gerhardt It is: Prepare for a fate worse than death, English flying
fellow.
BA Oh. So, it's the traditional warm German welcome.
von Gerhardt Correct. Also, he is saying: Do not try to escape or you
will suffer even worse.
BA A fate worse than a fate worse than death? Sounds pretty bad.
Scene 11: Captain Darling's Office
----------------------------------
[George and Darling are arguing loudly, there is confused chatter.]
George Yes well, you see, it's all very well for you, isn't it,
sitting here behind yer, behind yer, behind yer comfy desk.
Darling Don't you take that tone with me, Lieutenant, or I'll have
you on a charge for insurbordination.
George Well, I'd rather be on a charge for insubordination than on a
charge of deserting a friend.
Darling How dare you talk to me like that!
George How dare I . . .?
[General Melchett, attracted by the noise, enters from his office.]
Melchett Now, then, now then, now, now, then, now then, now then,
then now, now, now then. What's going on here?
Darling That damn fool Blackadder has crashed his plane behind enemy
lines, Sir. This young idiot wants to go and try rescue him.
It's a total waste of men and equipment.
George He's not a damn fool, Sir, he's a bally hero.
Melchett All right. All right, all right, all right. I'll deal with
this, Darling. Delicate touch needed, I fancy.
[Melchett takes George over to the fireplace.]
Melchett Now, George. Do you remember when I came down to visit you
when you were a nipper for your sixth birthday? You used to
have a lovely little rabbit. Beautiful little thing. Do you
remember?
George Flossy.
Melchett That's right. Flossy. Do you remember what happened to
Flossy?
George You shot him.
Melchett That's right. It was the kindest thing to do after he'd been
run over by that car.
George By your car, Sir.
Melchett Yes, by my car. But that too was an act of mercy when you
would remember that that dog had been set on him.
George Your dog, Sir.
Melchett Yes, yes, my dog. But what I'm trying to say, George, is
that the state young Flossy was in after we'd scraped him off
my front tyre is very much the state that young Blackadder
will be in now. If not very nearly dead, then very actually
dead.
George Permission for lip to wobble, Sir?
Melchett Permission granted.
[George's lips wobble.]
Melchett Stout fellow.
George But surely, Sir, you must allow me to at least try and save
him.
Melchett No, George. It would be as pointless as trying to teach a
woman the value of a good, forward defensive stroke. Besides,
it would take a superman to get him out of there, not the
kind of weed who blubs just because somebody gives him a slice
of rabbit pie instead of birthday cake.
George Well, I suppose you're right, Sir.
Melchett Course I am. Now let's talk about something more jolly,
shall we? Look, this is the amount of land we've
recaptured since yesterday.
[Melchett and George move over to the map table.]
George Oh, excellent.
Melchett Erm, what is the actual scale of this map, Darling?
Darling Erm, one-to-one, Sir.
Melchett Come again?
Darling Er, the map is actually life-size, Sir. It's superbly
detailed. Look, look, there's a little worm.
Melchett Oh, yes. So the actual amount of land retaken is?
[Darling whips out a tape measure amd measures the table.]
Darling