A Play for Radio Mike Knowles GRAMS: CHINESE MUSIC. ANNOUNCER: (HEAVY CHINESE ACCENT) Good evening, honulable listnahs. Our malket lesearch show avelage Blitish ladio listnah to be of velly low intelligence. Consequently they listen to any old lubbish. So now the Fah-Teng Whoopee Cushion Company is ploud to plesent Tlumpel's Glate Tliumph... FX: LOUD WHOOPEE CUSHION. A LONG WAILING GUSSET FLAPPER. ANNOUNCER: This is stoly of folmel Public Schoolboy Detective; Fightah Ace; Long Distance Lolly Dliver; Wally of first Odah...Wing Commander Holatio Landolph Tlumpel. He has been all these things and much more. Today he live in quiet seclusion in plivate nusing home for letied well educated Teddy Boys... FADE OUT GRAMS: TEMPO.
A STRING QUARTET PLAY A ROCK AND ROLL NUMBER AT A SLOW
NURSE:
What's the matter, Wing Commander?
TRUMPER:
I can't dance in these drainpipe trousers - they're far too heavy!
NURSE: You silly old Wing Commander! Why don't you wear those modern plastic ones? TRUMPER: first.
I say! Plastic drainpipes? What a wizard idea. I'll just take these off
FX: SOUND OF TWO LARGE METAL PIPES CLANKING AND ROLLING ON THE FLOOR. TRUMPER:
There...that's better.
NURSE:
OOOOHHHHH! What hairy knees you have!
TRUMPER: Yes, I use only the best garden fertilizer. Percy Thrower was the same, you know. He swore by it. “Bloody hell!” he used to say, “This fertilizer’s good for hairy knees.” NURSE:
I can't resist them. Run away with me, Wing Commander.
TRUMPER:
I'm too old to run.
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NURSE: (HOPEFULLY) Crawl away with me? You look worried. Do I frighten you, Wing Commander? TRUMPER:
Frighten me? I don't know the meaning of the word.
NURSE:
Here's a dictionary.
TRUMPER:
Thanks.
FX:
SOUND OF TURNING PAGES.
TRUMPER: Ah! Here it is...frighten. A traumatic event often causing profuse sweating, chattering gnashers and loose bowels... FX:
A LOUD WET FART.
TRUMPER:
Gad!
NURSE:
What's wrong, Wing Commander?
TRUMPER:
Quickly Nurse! What do you do with loose bowels?
NURSE:
Tighten them up with a spanner.
FX: DIE AWAY.
MORE WET FARTS. SOUND OF A NUT BEING TIGHTENED. THE FARTS
TRUMPER: AHHHHH! Modern medicine is a wonderful thing. This is terrible, Nurse. I was decorated for bravery during the war... FADE OUT FX:
SOUND OF HEAVY AIR RAID...A 500KG ONE.
OFFICER: Flying Officer Trumper, you're being decorated! We're going to cover you in this nice blue wallpaper with the pink flowers. My wife picked it specially. TRUMPER:
Thank you, sir!
FADE OUT TRUMPER: Oh, dear! Look out, Nurse! Those wartime memories are bringing on a funny turn… NURSE:
No! Not a funny turn…!
TRUMPER:
(FADING AWAY) Too late…
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FX: SOUND OF HYSTERICAL LAUGHTER ALONG WITH A HELICOPTER STARTING UP. THE BLADES INCREASE IN SPEED AND THEN SLOW DOWN. ANNOUNCER: We apologise for this appalling oriental humour, but the sponsor insists we keep it in. Thank you. NURSE:
You’re welcome. Are you all right, Wing Commander?
TRUMPER:
By Jove, Nurse! I knew I shouldn’t have had those extra Senokots!
NURSE:
Ahah! It’s all coming out now!
TRUMPER: You can say that again! OOOOHHHH! I feel dizzy. I'd better lie down and have a rest. And I'll tell you about the time I was at Wallygrange, a small public school not far from Accrington. Whilst I was there I had two chums - Biff Bullwater and Smelly Smith. Together we were the ace public schoolboy detectives of our era. NURSE:
Your ear?
TRUMPER: Era, you silly woman! Era. That's life for you - in one era and out the other. I can still recall clearly our most exciting case. It began one September night back in 1938. We were in my study in the Upper Remove, toasting Muffins by the fire... FADE INTO SOUND OF SOMETHING FLESHY BEING ROASTED IN FRONT OF A COAL FIRE. SMELLY:
Golly, chaps! I don't think Muffins likes to be toasted!
TRUMPER: Third.
(OLD MAN) It was Roland Muffins, a toady little creep from the Lower
BIFF: I say! Look at his legs - they're all black! When did you last wash yourself, Muffins? TRUMPER:
Answer him, you sniveling little toad!
SMELLY: to a crisp!
That's not dirt, Biff! His bally legs are black because we've burnt them
MUFFINS:
(IN PAIN) You beasts...you utter beasts! How can I play rugger now?
SMELLY: With great difficulty. But it's no good complaining to the Headmaster. After all...right now you haven't got a leg to stand on. FX:
LOUD BOYISH LAUGHTER AND SOUND OF MUFFINS SOBBING.
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TRUMPER:
Oh do stop sniveling and cut along to bed.
FX:
SOUND OF SOBBING FADES AS MUFFINS EXITS.
BIFF:
Tomorrow we'll toast Bangers instead.
TRUMPER:
Johnny Bangers from the Upper First?
BIFF:
No, porky bangers from the butcher.
FX:
SOUND OF LOUD EXPLOSION.
SMELLY:
What was that?
TRUMPER: An explosion from the Headmaster’s house! And from the sound of it I suspect it was that huge 500-millimetre artillery shell he brought back from the Great War. He’s always messing about with it. BIFF: No, Old Bean, I fear I must disagree with you there. To the amateur that unexpected nocturnal fulmination may have sounded like a shell, but - to an expert like me who has been trained to identify the nature of explosive substances by distinguishing the subtle variations in a detonation - it sounded more like a gas main. The old duffer probably left his fire on and when he lit his pipe... SMELLY: (CUTTING IN) Nonsense! If you’re an expert then I’m a bally monkey’s whatsit! That was the sound made by the bursting of a large weather balloon! TRUMPER: Yes, you could be right, Smelly! Come to think of it they both have a similar tone. Although the former has a slightly sharper resonance, the sound may have been blunted by some atmospheric distortion. BIFF:
Like the dense fog?
TRUMPER:
Precisely! On the other hand...
GRAMS:
DRAMATIC MUSIC.
ANNOUNCER: What will our intlepid helos discovah when they entah headmastahs study? But filst a commelcial blake… FEMALE: (DEEP SEDUCTIVE VOICE) As a well known professional fashion model whose face has appeared in several glossy up-market magazines, I just adore the sound of an athletic man breaking wind. FX: FART - RICH AND DEEP, LIKE THE RECORDING OF A TROMBONE PLAYED AT HALF-SPEED.
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FEMALE:
(MOANING) OH…YESSSS!YESSSS!…YESSSSSSSS!
ANNOUNCER: Ah so! No need to blake wind foh weal and whisk obnoxious smell. The Fah-Teng Whoopee Cushion Special Spohts Model sound just like hunky beefcake man! Yes, Listenels. Fah-Teng Whoopee Cushion Company is owned by glate Fu Manchu... GRAMS:
SCREAMS OF TERROR.
ANNOUNCER: …who insist on quality of manuflacture. And when Fu Manchu insist, it is unwise to disobey. Please! Please! Thele is no need to fea the glate Fu Manchu. He attend angale management coulse and he now totally lefolmed chalactel. He no longel evil. Would evil pelson manufactule platical jokes? No! You want heal the best falts? Then please to buy Fun Machu’s whoopee cushions. Now back to stoly. Public Schoolboy Detective Holatio Tlumpel and his two chums, Smelly and Biff, while indulging in unspeakable acts typical of Blitish public schoolboys, suddenly heah sound of explosion flom Headmastah’s house. Take it away, Lolling Stones... GRAMS:
ROLLING STONES NUMBER PLAYED IN CHINESE STYLE.
FX:
SOUND OF FEET ON GRAVEL PATH. THE HOOT OF AN OWL.
TRUMPER: There’s been some terrible accident! Let's hope we're not too late! We owe that man so much. BIFF: Yes, I owe him 50 quid! I just hope something has blown the old blackguard to kingdom come! FX:
SOUND OF MORE LOUD EXPLOSIONS.
BIFF:
I fear we’re too late, chaps!
TRUMPER: (OLD MAN) But when we arrived at the Headmaster's house we found the great man in his darkroom. He was a keen photographer who developed his own pictures. TRUMPER:
Gosh! You're all right, sir! But we heard...
HEADMASTER: (LAUGHS) Don’t worry, boys. You merely heard me blowing a few pictures up. It's been one of those days. Won't you join me in a glass of whisky? I have some twenty-year old malt. It'll relax you. FX: SOUND OF LARGE DRINK BEING POURED…AN EXTRA LARGE ONE THAT SEEMS TO GO ON FOREVER! SMELLY:
Er...no thanks, sir.
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HEADMASTER: You know, I've always thought the Wallygrange school uniform was a little too formal and restrictive. Perhaps you'd care to remove them. Don't blush, boys! There is no shame in nakedness. Come...let the night air caress your lithe young limbs. BIFF: (FADING AWAY) I wish we could, sir! But we've got oodles of prep to get through! FX:
SOUND OF RUNNING FEET
HEADMASTER: Oh dear, I suppose its back to the rent boy. TRUMPER: (OLD MAN) I, for one, was grateful the Headmaster was unharmed. I was toying with the idea of taking a degree in medicine and found his anatomy lessons useful. Then, when we entered the schoolhouse, we found someone waiting for us outside the study... GRAMS:
SEXY MUSIC.
MRS FOSTER: (HUSKY VOICE) Hello, boys. BIFF:
Gosh! It's a Voluptuous Woman!
TRUMPER: (OLD MAN) Gad, she was beautiful! Her dress was that tight it could have been painted on her body...in fact it was painted on her body! We tried to see what was underneath, but she had an undercoat on. GRAMS:
JAPANESE TYPE DRUM ROLL WITH CYMBALS.
MRS FOSTER: Who was that poor creature with blackened legs who showed me to your study? TRUMPER:
That was Muffins - a fag.
MRS FOSTER: No thank you, I don’t smoke. My name is Mrs Foster. My husband is the well known thespian, Angus Foster. You may have heard of him. TRUMPER:
A thespian, eh? Golly! I thought that only applied to women?
MRS FOSTER: Foolish boy! You’re thinking of a lesbian. TRUMPER:
I am? Which one?
MRS FOSTER: Me, you foolish boy! Can’t you tell? Why else would I be walking around with a large carved dilldo in my handbag?
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SMELLY:
Gosh! What’s a dilldo?
MRS FOSTER: A lesbian’s best friend. However, my sexual proclivities need not concern you. Anyway, you’re far too young and innocent to even consider such things… TRUMPER:
(QUICKLY) We’re fairly advanced for our age!
MRS FOSTER: (IGNORES HIM) I came here because I need your help. GRAMS:
DRAMATIC CHORDS.
SMELLY:
In that case, we'll do what we can, won't we, chaps?
AD LIBS:
GOSH, YES! ABSOLUTELY! ETC.
MRS FOSTER: Good. I hear you are Public Schoolboy Detectives. What I want to know is, are you any good? BIFF: tricky cases.
Good? We’re positively brilliant! In fact, we've solved a number of
SMELLY:
Extremely tricky cases.
TRUMPER:
Fiendishly tricky cases.
BIFF:
Mind-bogglingly-tricky cases.
MRS FOSTER: Then you're my only hope. It's my partner - I fear she may have fallen into the hands of some white slavers! GRAMS:
SOME MORE DRAMATIC CHORDS.
SMELLY:
(UNSURE) White slavers? Cripes! That sounds...er...jolly serious.
MRS FOSTER: I also have reason to suspect that she may have been kidnapped by a one armed deaf and dumb Albino dwarf with a club foot. GRAMS:
THOSE DRAMATIC CHORDS AGAIN.
TRUMPER:
Good Lord! It can't be!
MRS FOSTER: You mean, you know him? SMELLY: Gosh! I'll say we do! His name is Peppery Dan. He lost his left arm when old Trumper pushed him under a tram in Blackpool last year.
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MRS FOSTER: It was his right arm that was missing. SMELLY:
(DISAPPOINTED) Wrong dwarf - pity.
AD LIBS:
WHAT A SHAME! ETC.
MRS FOSTER: My partner was last seen in a night club in Paris called Le Rouge Derrier. Here's my card. It has my address and telephone number. Please call me the moment you hear anything. TRUMPER:
We have heard something.
MRS FOSTER: You have? That’s incredible. What is it? TRUMPER: That your partner was last seen in a Parisian night club called…Le Rouge Derrier! MRS FOSTER: I’ve just told you that. Just let me know if you come across any additional information. I want you to rescue her. But be warned. It may be dangerous...you may even be killed. Those white slavers are desperate men. TRUMPER: fainted…
(OLD MAN) At that point I don’t remember any more because I
FX:
SOUND OF BODY HITTING FLOOR.
ANNOUNCER: Ah so! Will Tlumpel and flends glit teeth and accept most dangelous task to lescue Voluptuous Female pelson’s lesbian lovah? Ohah will juvenile cowahdlice gain upper hand and folce them to abolt mission? But filst a wold flom owl spnosol... GRAMS:
FU MANCHU MUSIC.
ANNOUNCER: Honulable listnahs want to play funny joke on flends? Then use FahTeng Whoopee Cushion for best lesults. FX:
SOUND OF WHOOPEE CUSHION. A CHEEKY RIPPER.
ANNOUNCER: Sound advice. The lecent Panolama Ploglam on the BBC accused FahTeng Whoopee Cushion factoly of using sweat shop methods. Panolama pose question, is plesevation of seaside joke shop wolth all this human misely? This not tlue. This big lie by BBC who pledudiced against managing dilector, Fu Manchu. Wolkels in owl flactoly do not sweat because we blow cold ail on them. Now back to stoly. Owl tlee schoolboy detectives have plosmised to lescue Voluptous Female pelson’s lesbian lovah kidnapped by gang of despelate white slayvahs. But news that mission could be fatal has caused Tlumpel to tempolalily lose consciousness in what Blitish call a Blue Funk. Stlange, in China Funk always blite gleen…
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GRAMS:
SLOW DRUM ROLL FOLLOWING BY CRASHING CYMBAL.
TRUMPER: (OLD MAN) When I came round I found myself lying in a pool of liquid. It had a familiar odour and the crotch of my trousers felt damp. There was no time to lose. We felt that if we helped rescue Mrs Foster’s sister, she might be grateful enough to forgo her lesbian tendencies and bestow certain…favours upon us. Or – if that proved impossible – she would allow us to observe her indulging in some hankypanky with her female partner. So, after packing our bags, we caught the first express train to Dover… FX:
SOUND OF DIESEL TRAIN.
TRUMPER:
(OLD MAN) No! No…No! I want a steam train.
SOUNDMAN: Sorry, guv! FX:
SOUND OF STEAM TRAIN PLAYED VERY SLOWLY.
TRUMPER:
I said express train.
FX:
THE TRAIN SPEEDS UP.
TRUMPER: OLD MAN) That’s better. Now get a grip on yourself, man! (PAUSE) No!…No! I didn’t mean get a grip on that! Let go of it, you disgusting creature! SOUNDMAN: Sorry, guv. TRUMPER: (OLD MAN) My God! Is everyone around here sex mad? What in blazes is the BBC coming to? I shall write a stiff letter to Lord Reith. SOUNDMAN: Reith’s dead and gone, mate. And this ain’t the Bee-Bee-Bloody-See. We don’t have the taxpayer’s money to pee around with fancy sound effects. This is commercial radio. A bloody coconut, a Fah-Teng Whoopee Cushion and a dustbin lid…that’s all we use. TRUMPER: (OLD MAN) And it shows. Where was I? Ah, yes…the train! Well, apart from Smelly defusing a couple of bombs in the guard’s van and my life-and-death struggled with a crazed Latvian assassin on the roof of the first-class dining carriage, the journey was uneventful. Here! You…the technician chappy over there in the corner. That’s right, you! SOUNDMAN: Christ Almighty! What’s up with him now? Bleeding artistes. Always moaning about something. Listen, mate! If you’re so fond of bleedin’ fancy sound effects, why didn’t you send this crap to the BBC? They’ve got all the lolly.
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TRUMPER: (OLD MAN) I did, but they turned it down. Now let’s see how good your Commercial Radio Sound Department really is! I’m going to stretch you to the limit. Ready? SOUNDMAN: Ready, guv. TRUMPER: (OLD MAN) Very well! Arriving in Dover, we caught the ferry and were soon heading across the Channel… FX: SOUND OF SAILING SHIP. CREAKING RIGGING, ETC. CREW SINGS “YOHO-HO AND A BOTTLE OF RUM!” TRUMPER:
(OLD MAN) It was an old ship. The captain was a sea dog…
FX:
A DOG BARKING.
TRUMPER: (OLD MAN) That evening, he invited us to dine at his table…but we left when he started humping Smelly’s left leg! FX:
A DOG PANTING.
SMELLY:
I say! Get off me, you beast!
FX:
SOUND OF A KICK AND A DOG WHINING.
TRUMPER: (OLD MAN) Suddenly a storm brewed up. Fortunately it was merely a storm in a teacup… FX:
SOUND OF A CUP OF TEA BEING STIRRED.
TRUMPER: rigging…
(OLD MAN) Then it got worse. The wind began to whistle through the
FX: THE WIND WHISTLES A MERRY TUNE THROUGH THE RIGGING. SOUND OF CREAKING TIMBERS. TRUMPER:
(OLD MAN) We retired to our cabin…
SMELLY: I say, chaps! It’s awfully stuffy in here! What’s this sign say? Chain Locker Store. TRUMPER: It’s the only place we could afford. After the bally train fare we only had five shillings left! BIFF: I know! Maybe we should open this circular window-thingy and let some fresh air in.
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TRUMPER:
(IN UNISON) NOOOOOOO!
SMELLY:
(IN UNISON) NOOOOOOO!
FX:
SOUND OF LOTS OF WATER RUSHING IN.
TRUMPER: (OLD MAN) Within moments the cabin was filled with seawater. Soon the ship began to list. First, it listed all the words beginning with the letter ‘A’… SHIP:
Aardvark, abaca, abacist, aback…
TRUMPER: (OLD MAN) The situation was desperate. In the best traditions of the British Merchant Service, the Skipper gave the order: “Abandon ship! Captain and crew first…the rest of you bilge rats are on your own!” After that the ship sank like a stone. By some miracle the three of us clambered on top of a large cabinet from the galley which we found floating on the surface. Then we had some more good fortune. I opened a drawer and found three large wooden spoons which we used to paddle ourselves towards land. TRUMPER: I say, I’ve just thought of something. We could have taken the train to Croydon and flown across the bally Channel by plane. It would have saved us all this trouble. FX:
SOUND OF TRUMPER BEING BEATEN UP.
SMELLY squid!
Wait a sec, chaps! What’s that out there? Golly! It looks just like a
TRUMPER:
Get hold of it, Smelly! We need all the cash we can get!
SMELLY: No, you dunce! Not a quid! A squid! A giant one! And it appears to be quite hungry! GRAMS:
DRAMATIC MUSIC
ANNOUNCER: Will Tlumpel and flends battle giant squid? What does hungly squid look like? Will owah tlee Famous Public Schoolboy Detectives finally leach Flance and lescue Voluptuous Female’s lesbian lovah? Find out aftel commelcial blake... FX:
LOUD FART FOLLOWED BY A SHOT.
FU MANCHU: (EVIL LAUGH) Enough of this bad English. People like that make you Roundeyes think all Chinese have trouble with their r’s. This racial stereotyping must stop. You want r’s trouble...? FX: LOUD FART – A REAL GUSSET RIPPER HEARD IN AN ECHO CHAMBER AND EXTENDED.
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FU MANCHU: Now that’s r’s trouble. The world has not seen the end of Fu Manchu. Those who have dared oppose me are mere pygmies... MAN:
I’m six foot three!
FU MANCHU: That is until I cut you down to size, Nayland Smith. From now on I will be the announcer on this pathetic show... FX:
SOUND OF WOODEN LEGS BEING SAWN OFF.
And that’s as far as I got!
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