Sir Henry at Rawlinson End (Vivian Stanshall)
Transcribed from the album by David Evers
Side I The wrinkled retainer hung up his greasy fez on a peg,
and with joints crackling like the screwing up of plastic
[Theme: violin, piano, bodhran, mandolin.] egg-cartons, hacked, and
Narrator Scrotum
English as tuppence, changing yet changeless as canal "Oo, arr, thrickett..."
water, nestling in green nowhere, armoured and effete,
bold flag-bearer, lotus-fed Miss Havishambling Narrator
opsimath and eremite, feudal still, reactionary ..ed his way out into the hall.
Rawlinson End. The story so far...
A pale sun poked impudent marmalade fingers through
The body of Doris Hazard's pekinese, unwittingly the grizzle-latticed glass, and sent the shadows
asphixiated beneath her husband's bottom during a wine scurrying, like convent girls menaced by a tramp. Alone
and middle-aged spread do at the great house, after the again, Florrie focussed on the copper-gleaming coal
ritual fortnight in the Rawlinson fridge, has been given scuttle, fogged, wool-gathered, and in seconds
over to Old Scrotum, the wrinkled retainer, for indecent surrendered to Erewhon. Peacefully, on tiptoe through
burial under Sir Henry's giant marrow. This monstrous grey spheres, where shade has substance, whispers walk,
jade zebra veg is the master's puffed pride, and by his and mire reigns...
stern instruction, the greedy gourd is daily drip-fed with
a powerful laxative. Thus, Song: Aunt Florrie's Waltz
Sir Henry (Vivian: piano, sarrusophone, talking drum; Julian
"Should some rascal half-inch the blessed thing and eat Smedley: violin & mandolin; Steve Winwood: piano &
it, it'll give 'em the liquorice for weeks!" celeste; Pete Moss: accordian.)
Narrator (Florrie)
Now think on't, dot dot dot dot dot ... Wistful and lovely are walls with wisteria
Clematis clambers on time-pocked walls white
Narrator Stranger than larkspur or lupin, hydrangea
Great Aunt Florrie, toast crumbs specking the fine hairs Hydra-head mother-in-law's tongue, tied, fancy flight
gracing her upper lip, teacup half-empty lukewarm in her
lap, dozed in a cozy Chippendale settle. An elfin tissue Narrator
curdled her mind with muted chimaera: through dancing [Theme: Interlewd]
dark, neon-bright saraband eels; gauzes of filmy Fellini; (Vivian: recorders, talking-drum, percussion &
glimpses further than the rocket fathoms, rhythmic, euphonium; Jim Cuomo: recorder; Julian Smedley:
fading and in unending procession. guitar; Steve Winwood: celeste; Pete Moss: cello.)
It was chill, but a beautiful morning. During the night, Tendril-fragrant honeysuckle sucked and honey-babed,
soft snow mattressed the vast acreage of Rawlinson, yet close to the ancient limestone walls of Rawlinson; and
defiant, hoyden heralds thrust emerald from the Florrie, awake, bayonetted her turkey head from its
woodlands and window boxes of nearby Concreton. privy orifice. It was a lovely morning: gorgeous beyond
Outside, icicles crystalline and lovely pendant from his imagining were brassy hoars of winter-depression-fierce
nose, Old Scrotum, the wrinkled retainer, scrunched up daffodils, blaring yellow-white reveille, and croci,
the gravel whistling a dirty song; and Florrie, gentle gingering the lawns in tessellate Performing-Right-
corset prisoner of the flesh, started, and was alert as a Society. No need for wellies, Florrie, shawl about her
skinless eye, when the old man, his russet-burned sparrow shoulders, took the interminable beige thing she
country face smiling in wreaths, pushed open the back was knitting into the garden.
door.
Earth, having sipped its cold manna, merely "pssst...
Scrotum pssst..." and crisped beneath pom-toed fastidious feet.
"Prohworrh! Mornin' ma'm", he wheezed. "I filled in the Worms and wigglies slumbered deep, and stirred not a
grave nice." bit, as didn't dead Mr. Cumberpatch who, like all
Rawlinsons or favoured servants, was buried upright in
Narrator the Victory Garden.
Florrie nodded, and indicated the sink:
Florrie Sir Henry
"Perhaps you'd... care to wash your hands?" "No sense in wasting space", said Henry, "bags of
calcium and goodness in the buggers. You should've
Scrotum seen my sprouts when Baron Tostoff, the ruined Pole,
"Arr, no thank'ee ma'm, I already did that up against a kicked it."
tree afore I came in 'ere."
Narrator
Narrator About Florrie, in stone postures various, were two
Florrie took a careful, purse-lipped sip of now-cold tea. hundred and seven gnomes.
Florrie Song: Wheelbarrow
"Very well", she said, dabbing the corners of her mouth
with a lavender-scented hankie, "now I'd like you to set (Vivian: vocal, banjolele, baconium, sarrusophone &
up the card table, and put down some sawdust in the percussion; Jim Cuomo: flageolet; Julian Smedley:
smoking room. Lord Tarquin Portly and the Lady fiddle; Steve Winwood: banjolin; vocal chorus: the
Phillipa of Staines are popping over this evening." Exishanshalliste Songsters.)
Narrator (Florrie)
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Sitting in a sunken garden...
Pinking in a sinking sun Paralysis lasted... scarce a blink, but with impotent rage,
Thinking of a summer long ago: he bellied his unwilling hulk to the wardrobe. Cold
When one was twenty-one. comfort, as his palsied hand found the shotgun; good
stock...
Naming all the flowers so friendly...
Shouting at the shrubs so thick Sir Henry
Lo, behold, Lobelia... "Roll over..." - one action, commando stuff - "cock
One bite and the Bishop was sick, over!"
(Chorus:) Narrator
How nice to be in England... Safety off! Both barrels through the ceiling.
Now that England's here,
I stand upright in my wheelbarrow, [FX: the same]
And pretend I'm Boadicea.
Hi Ho Narrator
Hi Ho Stunned shock, and then Henry's eruptive bellow:
(Florrie) Sir Henry
Shy goldfish shady in the green weed, "Mrs. E.!"
By gad'flies giddy in the haze...
Here I sit; I knit knit knit, Narrator
With the garden gnomes, I say: The plaster had not settled before the housekeeper stood,
lurcher-backed, at-your-servile-sir, in the room.
(Chorus)
Mrs. E.
Narrator (Astonishingly nasal:) "Yiths?", she said.
She noted that the gnomes were a length more obviously
masculine than hitherto, and now knew why Gerald had Sir Henry
squandered so much pocket-money on Plasticene. Poor (Furious:) "I don't know what I want, but I want it now!"
boy spent too long observing the sun through a
telescope: his squint was permanent. Mrs. E.
"Fried or fried, dear?"
Florrie
(Interior monologue:) "Dear me - daydreaming; and the Sir Henry
Staines coming tonight!" "Now!"
Narrator Mrs. E.
Almost noon, and she had yet to go the launderette in "Fried?"
Concreton to thaw out chickens in the spin-drier...
Sir Henry
Sir Henry "Fired!"
"Filth hounds of Hades!"
Mrs. E.
Narrator "With or without dear?"
Sir Henry Rawlinson surfaced from the blackness, hot
and fidgety, fuss, [FX: fart] bother and itch. Conscious Sir Henry
mind coming up too fast with the bends, through pack- "Within! Get out!"
ice thrubbing seas, boom-sounders, blow-holes, harsh
croak Blind Pews tip-tap-tocking for escape from his
pressing skull. With a gaseous grunt, he rolled away
from the needle-cruel light acupuncturing his pickled- Mrs. E.
onion eyes, and with key-bending will slit-peered at the "Fried without... mmm..." (Brightly:) "Off dear."
cold trench Florrie had left on her side of the bed.
Tongue, like yesterday's fried cod: mind over batter? Narrator
Apron flapping like a floral tongue, Mrs. E. descended.
Sir Henry Song: Socks
"Tongue sandwiches? Yeeurgh! Eat what? But it's been
in somebody else's mouth!" (Vivian: vocal, bass harmonica, jew's harp, banjolele,
percussion and sarrusophone; Jim Cuomo: bass sax; Pete
Nurse(?) Moss: fiddle & accordian; Julian Smedley: fiddle.)
"You'll eat it and like it!"
(Mrs. E. over intro, in the style of the "pepperpot" ladies
Sir Henry in Monty Python:)
"But why can't I have..."
Dunno 'ow I got out of bed this mornin: I 'ad it all down
Nurse(?) one side. Ooh, put me foot down - Gawd! it was like
"Because I say so!" pluggin into the mains, it shot right up an' I came over
all giddy. I thought: Ooh no, I'm goin, and it started
Narrator swimmin, me life, before me, ooh smell the lilies, I 'ad
Black spot: the Blind Pews were now thrashing with such a good cry, it was lovely: I just wanted to lay back
their canes. there, course I can't really... recline, he's put me on
tablets... it's a constant fight to relax: Sunday last, I was
Sir Henry heatin a drop of lemon, just bent down to pull up me
"God's turban and tutu; do I need a dare of the hog?" surgical stockins when - Ooh it slipped out again...
busy? Well, didn't 'ave time to straighten up! Course I
Narrator can't sleep, not since Mr. E. passed over: it's like 'avin
He reached for the bell rope, yanked savagely to yer leg off - you think it's still there, in the bed, I mean,
summon the housekeeper, and discovered himself, it was thirty-three years last Tuesday: I'd just got used to
nightie round his waist, turned tortoise on the rug.
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'is snorin, and mornin's, 'e'd make me a, a herbal conclusion, do away with telephones. Thus, it was not
infusion, I used to love doin' for 'im... Ooh: only for speed, stature and far-seeing that habitually he
went on stilts: for also, he affected an ear-trumpet, with
Darnin' socks, darnin' socks for your man, the consequence that confidants stood on boxes or tip-
Darn darn..., oh darn, oh, big toe's through again toe or jumped up and up to converse with him - Hubert
all times straining, craning, cupping his good ear,
[cockup: doh, no, oh never mind, I'll start again... no, no feigning non comprende, and muttering:
really I will...]
Hubert
Darnin' socks, darnin' socks for your man, "Pardon? ... C..Come again? Do speak upwards,"
Darn darn darn, big toe's through again
Darnin' socks, darnin' socks, darn darn darn Narrator
Darn there goes the door-knocker, I bet it's Mrs. Brown and etcetera, at the same time shaking uncontrollably
giggling, as his hapless companion empurpled and
"Hello dear, come inside, 'ave a cup'o'tea" shrieked. Reg Smeeton said:
"Hope I'm not intrudin', you know me!"
"Give you time to boil it: may I use your toilet? Smeeton
"Lookin' round, can I 'elp? Anything at all?" (Brightly informative:) "Did you know there is no proper
name for the back of the knees?"
(Recit.)
Oooh, matter of fact, come to think, Narrator
Hubert gestured, with his trident:
I gotta lot of socks to darn & never mind the stinky
stink, Hubert
Me 'usband 'e's out farmin', farm farm farm "Look: there's Ralph,"
Says 'e: "a bit o' muck never do folks any 'arm."
Narrator
Out in 'is gum-boots, plough plough plough, he said, with rare insight. With practised effort, Mr.
Muggins 'ere 'as gotta feed 'is big, fat sow, Smeeton behaved outwardly as he knew he must, and
'E tried it on this mornin', the saucy so-and-so, screwed his eyes hong kong to the distant figure,
Get yer breakfast down you, and out you go. microscopic and lifelike, shimmering on the pitch.
Just one little bit.. Hubert
"He boiled roly-poly puddings in old socks..."
[cockup: oh, shit, I've gone again, never mind, no, no,
keep going, yeah...] Narrator
..said Hubert dreamily.
Just one bit'o'comfort 'fore I lie inside me box:
If the Lord wears trousers, the prophets never mentioned Hubert was unusual. In his adolescence, during the
socks, summer, in a northerly direction parallel to the Earthly
And if an angel asks me for a little 'ole to fill, axis, he would throw himself naked onto the lawn, and
Well dear, darn darn darn darn with that loathsome bluey Roman clock face tattooed
Darn, I'll go to 'Ell. about his private parts, think about Jean Harlow very
hard, and from the shadow cast, tell the time with
Narrator remarkable accuracy.
On Sensible Common, Hubert Rawlinson, in his mid-
forties and still unusual, with his adventurous young Hubert
nephew, Ralph, are playing cricket. During a break, "Look! No hands, Aunty!"
Hubert, his friend Reg Smeeton and the rest of the team
enjoy a chilled glass of Parafino in the shade of the Narrator
pavilion; but Ralph has determined he will rid the club ..he would screech.
of moles.
In the winter, he tried with birthday candles stuck in the
Hubert polished his trident with the sleeve of the white end: was hours slow, and Henry told him to put a sock
pullover carelessly wrapped around his waist. on the sun-dial bit. And so, he contented himself by
waiting sentry in the hall, and inviting visitors to stand
Hubert on his feet. He would then give their weight, in a
"You could see everything from the top of that bus", he
said sadly. "We were in Regent Street, and I was looking Hubert
right into Brainwashing House. I could see 'em all "dreadful... mono... tone"
running around inside, catching diseases and giggling.
My father lent across to me and said: "You'll be in there Narrator
if you don't stop playing with yourself." He died of and present them with cigarette cards depicting early
chrysanthemum poisoning. They had to kill all his flying machines, or steam-engines.
plants... You know, he was the real author of A Pictorial
History of Gargling. A very great work." P.C. Gibbon, the long arm of the law, arrested him a few
times, but now conceded he was harmless:
Narrator
Mr. Smeeton froze like a red setter. His conversation of [FX: pheep pheep on police whistle]
the you speak, I wait; you pause, I pounce variety, lent
exaggerated ear. Gibbon
(West Indian origin?) "De poor man got he head
Hubert screwed on wrong."
"They strapped a bloom to his back, and it came up all
blotchy. That's why he drank. It was Brasso, mostly..." Narrator
Hubert insisted he was quite normal:
Narrator
Hubert struck an odd heroic pose. Smeeton twitched and Song: The Rub
stared up. Hubert, although himself Karloff-soft-spoken,
liked to hear other people shouting. This he considered (Vivian: vocal, banjolele, cornets, trombone &
not only healthful, but just might, if taken to its illogical percussion; Jim Cuomo: bass & soprano sax; Pete Moss:
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cello & accordian; Julian Smedley: fiddle; Steve Sir Henry
Winwood: pipe-organ.) "Awkward beasts, winkles," he grunted, stabbing at his
plate, "my brother Hubert uses 'em for earplugs."
(Hubert)
I'm confusing, 'cause I'm unusual: I imitate the Walrus in Narrator
the tub Old Scrotum looked up from the ironing board, upon
Sometimes I swallow live goldfish, I follow my own which he was plucking the navel fluff and porcupine
bent, and there's the Rub. quills from his master's gargantuan trousers.
In uniquely... circus stances I execute exotic dances.
With three balloons, I swoon and snake it, it's no Bo- Sir Henry
Peep-Show: I prance naked. "Turns my belly to see him of a morning, fiddling about
Bless me I confess, I've grown watercress in my ears - in his lugholes with a pin. Don't know why he bothers:
drum: rub-a-dub, never hears anything I say."
I slim with sandpaper, shave my legs with paint-
scrapers, smooth but raspberry red and there's the Rub. Narrator
This was true: Henry's rhinoceros tyrrany had only the
Sporting different-coloured socks is thought unorthodox, most peripheral and incidental effect on Hubert's life.
Though I know which leg is where or which,
This cock-a-doodle paradox cocks a snook at all the There was a terrific crash, and a brick smashed through
schmocks, the window. About the brick was wrapped a note which
I wink but they interpret: nervous twitch. read, simply:
My ridiculed bizarrerie is only awkward armoury,
A squawking banshee yells "Beelzebub" The Note
'Mid the Kalahari faceless, I'm a freak oasis, an (Cork, Eire, or thereabouts:) "Hello now! I'm yer new
outlandish oddity neighbour."
A cack-hand commodity, a crackpot, lack-top:
Rub-me-up-the-wrong-way Hubert: there's the Rub. Narrator
Henry was plainly delighted:
Narrator
Alone on the pitch in his creamy flannels, Ralph lay atop Sir Henry
the molehill [FX: leather on willow, polite ripple of "He seems a decent enough egg! At least he didn't have
clapping] like a poultice on a green boil, trembling to the impertinence to present himself at the front door."
the wild scrabbling of the blind beast beneath his
stomach. Narrator
He swatted and stamped on a rather beautiful blue
Ralph butterfly.
"By Circe's rubber bra", he fretted, "if these things bite,
one will be singing soprano!" The room darkened, as a hang glider passed across the
sun.
Narrator
The wind in the willows ruffled the shepherd's-harp-gold Sir Henry
hair of a long-long-slumbering child within. "Seems a novel enough way to commit suicide",
observed Henry. "Pass me m' pistol, and I'll see if I can't
The wind in the willows, the will in the windows, the bring the blighter down into the lake."
wails of the widows in furry dark soft, overground,
underground, tiddly-pom; comfy and cosy tucked in for Narrator
the night - With a weapon in his charge, the master of Rawlinson
End was apt to be very... sporting and unpredictable, and
(Distraught:) "Mummy! My Teddy's stopped the wrinkled retainer took cover behind a leather
breathing!" armchair, peeping through his fingers and clutching a
rosary.
Mummy
[FX: click] "It's all right dear!" Sir Henry
"What're you doing, cowering down there?"
Narrator
A great heaving halted this train of thought at the level Narrator
crossing of rude, heart-stopping panic. With violent Scrotum tugged furiously at a long-vanished forelock:
shakes and horrid snufflings, the brute beast surfaced.
Edgar Allen Pot-pourri of eldritch foul imaginings: Scrotum
snout, flailing claws and bristle. Reason fled shrieking "Ee..errr... it be out of respect, sirrr."
from Ralph's thrilling mouth. Aghast, dry-throated, he
drank in that that his mind could not comprehend: the Sir Henry
thing was grinning with savage glee: soiled and shabby "Well you're supposed to love me, you vile jelly, take
about its shuddering torso [FX: elf/pixie music] was a that!"
white coat, and on its head, higgledy-piggledy were nine
cricket caps, and in its paw it brandished... a stump. [FX: ivory on cranium]
Spasm, abyss: nightmare and swoon: beckoning void,
unsilence and danger... Narrator
Mercifully, Henry hit him with the soft end of the pistol.
Dan dan, dan, daan... Dan dan dan dan... Dan, dan daan.. Scrotum sprawled on the parquet flooring, and Henry
Dan dan.. Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! strode back to the window and took aim at the hang
glider, now several hundred yards past the lime trees and
[FX: blow to the head] fast diminishing.
Dan dan, da-dan dan dan.. In sunshine, with the air full of wasps, and himself full
of pink gins and a half-bottle of Entre-Deux-Legs, it was
Narrator an impossible shot, and in a fit of bleary-eyed pique,
Back at Rawlinson End, the table was still cluttered for Henry emptied the gun into the tyres of a custard-yellow
breakfast - and when Sir Henry broke a fast, you cursed van parked in the drive.
double glazing.
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Like the shock of fondling a raw sausage blindfold at a Nice ( - and Tidy ) - that's Nice.
gay party, the significance of the van was clear. In florid
scriptiform on the side was painted Nice and Tidy - Just Narrator
Relax, and Let Us Do It; and to the right corner, a crude This unasked-for jollity in the middle of an English
drawing of the masks of Tragedy and Comedy, labelled afternoon left Sir Henry shivering with a red passion: his
Before and After. eyebrows like limp bats and his face a crumpled tissue
upon which a lobster might well have wiped its bottom.
The gentleman owners of this vehicle lodged in the
village and did contract house cleaning, but they Sir Henry
purported to be resting theatrical artistes. Both were "All crime", he declared, "is due to incorrect breathing."
given to striped blazers, orange pancake, obvious wigs, (Deep breath)
matching handkerchiefs, depilated legs and musical
comedy; which end-of-the-pier pointlessness they visited Narrator
on the drinking fraternity of the Fool and Bladder with Grim faced, cold as fishwife's fingers, he snatched from
unceasing enthusiasm - until, that is, old Seth One-Tooth the wall the sickle-sharp boar tusks he used for defacing
put a stop to 'em, claiming: Readers' Digest, and in moments crossed the hall, and
flung open the doors of the music room. Startled, Nigel
Seth Nice, straw boater askew, banjolele folderol, mince-
(Lancs.:) (Slurp) "I'm goin' as daft as an mahogany mince-minced across the room.
frying pan."
Nice
Narrator "Sir Henry! Nice to see you! To see y..."
Aunt Florrie's credenda "all musicians are nice people"
prompted her to place at their disposal the vast dusty Narrator
music room where great brown spiders traced quiet Henry's glare throttled his hypocrisy at birth.
geometric star chambers on the chandeliers and
crouched. Neither Nice, nor Tidy, could [camp as Sir Henry
Butlins] "Adam and Eve it"; and both confessed (Grim:) "Do you know what a palmist once said to me?
themselves "terribly touched". But Henry's reaction to She said "Will you let go!" Gentlemen, I am a bulldog
their presence now was primarily of apoplectic and you will know my bite is worse."
astonishment: after all, you don't expect decent people to
take you up on an invitation - it's downright rudery! Narrator
Teddy Tidy held the piano stool before him; Nigel Nice,
Sir Henry attempting to look invalid, put on his glasses and
"Well I'll see 'em off the premises m'self. The hounds blinked.
are all fagged out from yesterday's Jehovah's Witnesses,
and we don't want blood all over the lawns again." Sir Henry
"Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? Limp-hand
Narrator squids... prepare for wax!"
There were cachinnate theatrical chortles from across
the hall. Narrator
Stamping in frenzy, Henry bellowed the war-cry of the
Sir Henry Zulu:
(Trans-apoplectic:) "Great Thing! Those simpering
nancy-boys are in the house! Get up you stinking Sir Henry
blancmange, go.. lock the piano, pesi pesi, chop chop, Uuu-sooo-thooo!
ah, those lickspittle wretches!"
Narrator
Narrator Suddenly, a half-thawed chicken caught him in the back
But it was too late: a hint of cologne, pornographic of the neck.
discord and...
[FX: the same.]
Song: Nice and Tidy
[Theme: intermission for clarinet and lips - Pigs' 'Ere
(Vivian: vocals & ukulele; Steve Winwood: piano.) Purse]
(Vivian: threeps, ululele, baconium, truncheon &
[Note for the incorrigibly pedantic: the stereo suggests percussion; Juliam Smedley: guitar; Jim Cuomo: bass
that Nice (to the left) is playing piano, while Tidy (to the sax & clarinet.)
right) is playing banjo. Subsequent events suggest just
the opposite.] Narrator
Overleaf: Ralph has his upper lip pierced, so he can see
(Piano: jolly intro mit pornographic discord) where he is going whilst whistling.
(Duet: Tidy and Nice)
Side II
Nnnice! and Tidy!... (Tidy and Nice): that's the way that
we leave your hise, Yeeaaaaayyyyy!!!
Upstairs, downstairs wherever we do, we guarrantee it
will be tickety- (boo!), [Theme: 6/8 Hoodoo]
You put your feet up or go off to the shops, (Jim French (Terrier-man to the Costwold Hunt): holler
Just point us at the buckets and mops, & hunting-horn; Vivian: bass harmonica, euphonium &
Washing up (or wiping down), we are the tops, tuba; Julian Smedley: violin; Jim Cuomo: soprano sax;
We're Nice (and Tidy), we're Nice. Pete Moss: banjo.)
And Tidy [both:] may we vocalise?
I'm Teddy Tidy... (and I'm Nigel Nice), Sir Henry
Cleanliness is clearly an obsession we share, (Over band:) "Pom pom pommmm, pom-pom pom pom,
[Both:] You too will think we're both a right couple of rrrromp pom pomp and circumindecision... Pomp pomp,
pairs, bags of sweat, mmmmm mm-mm, brbwbwbw, mmmm
We'll hoover the mats (or neuter your cats), uhhhmmccchh mmhmm... Urrgh, ahem..."
To you, dear housewife, we waise our hats,
[Both:] We leave your home so clinical, your friends Narrator
will say that's
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The gutters leaked like secrets, and the rain rain-rained master of this unusual sport, and he lounged, huge and
like rain at Rawlinson End. In the library, a log fire spat work-stained outside the old pub, explaining the rules to
tracer over doomed Dresden, and Sir Henry, now of a Reg Smeeton, newsagent and self-styled encyclopaedia.
more tranquil kidney with glass in hand and monocle at
ease, having spent the afternoon chuckling over the A large red-faced farm worker with arms like tractors,
obituaries in The Times, was in expansive mood - well stripped to the waist, paced out an enormous run-up,
tanked up, lolling in a cockpit leather armchair. before turning to thunder down on his grinning partner
lying on the green.
Sir Henry
(Dambusters:) "Nrrrrowww, brrm brm, kcchhh-pbfff Seth
blm! Dan dan hhmmm!" "Eeee... 'e's got no chance!" said Seth smugly. "Silly
bugger's wearing spiked running shoes!"
Narrator
He glanced with difficulty over his shoulder, most of his Narrator
huge top half stiff with the wallop he'd received from the Reg Smeeton, floccose red wig like a kipper nailed to
half-thawed chicken. He was quite alone. his bonce, nodded with ill-feigned interest; but the
butterfly flexions of his face muscles argued the mental
Sir Henry tumult within - urging fervid facts chuttering in
(WingCo:) "'Course there were troops in the city - Stockhausen tongues.
thousands of 'em, massing for counter-atteck. (Sniff)
Death's-Head fanatics, the lot of 'em, heads like Smeeton
peanuts... brmm brrm... brrrmmm... Glasgey... "Drawing from my vast, though admittedly unresolved
Nrrrowww rrmm... Bad news Jock?" catalogue of general know-it-all, facts of interest
etcetera, corroborated, corroboree: a sacred or warlike
(Jock, distraught:) "Aye, sir - eh, it's the wee puppies, sir assembly of aboriginals, may I.. remind you of the
- during the blackout Jerry came over and... and the exploits of one William Barker of Manchester? In the
screaming, it went on, and..." 1890s, Billy cleared a canal thirty-five feet wide, making
a running jump, jack-knifing into a second to land,
(WingCo:) "Now, now then man, nrerrr, pull yourself perfectly dry, on the other side.
to... here, have a piece of special chocolate, wurrr, and
Professor... Professor Molebottom - where's he..." Seth
"I could clear a snooker table, full-length mind, from a
(Jock, barely consoled:) "In the laboratory sir - all night, standing jump before 'operation", grumbled Seth. "I
bouncing his balls across the tank..." could've made a mint, had I been a bit more shrewd."
(WingCo:) "Wirrr... um.. uuerr!" Smeeton
"Did you know that the elephant shrew never closes its
[FX: clank of poker falling on stone floor of fireplace] eyes."
(Douglas Bader:) "Damn this leg, by crikey! I'll make Narrator
Corporal Carpet-Chewer choke for this night's doing! Through the intestinal smoke of Seth's pipe, Smeeton's
(Sniff) Dan dan... (sings) Who put the bounce in the sweat-spangled face, eyes straining with mad intensity
bouncing bomb?... (Sniff) Molebottom did! dan dan..." behind glasses the shape of Ford Cortinas, shuddered
with the ungovernable maelstrom of information,
Narrator inessential, infantry and endless, that constituted the
Silent as a smelly one, Hubert entered the room. grotesque furniture of his mind. Filing cabinets
unlocked; thesauri fell agape; data danced in strict
Hubert formation, quick, quick, quick-quick quick... puzzles
"Can I play too, Henry? I like taking orders." fitted - it all added up: niggling, self-edited, tumbling
with clicking impatience, cross-reference and erupting
Narrator gathered beserk-fierce, heedless and torrential, howling
Henry exploded with shock: for outlet from his springboard lips.
Sir Henry Seth adjusted the strings about his knees, and unnoticed,
(Irate:) "Don't camarade me, you quisling! You're not in a passing wood-pigeon vacated onto Smeeton's
uniform, and it's dark!" Ploughman's Coypu-burger.
Narrator Seth
..roared the Führer of Rawlinson. "I ent so nimble now", said Seth, "but I used to jump in
and out o' t' barrels of eggs, wi'out cracking a shell."
Hubert
"But... I.. I'm in pyjamas, and I'm your brother!" Song: Smeeton
Sir Henry (Vivian: vocal, guitar, melodicas, euphonium, baconium,
"I'm afraid this is going to be an understandable sarrusophone & jabbamok; Pete Moss: cello; Steve
mistake" Winwood: mini-moog & organ.)
Narrator (Smeeton - interior dialogue for left and right brains)
shouted Henry, blowing strongly on a whistle, and with a
nasty growl, he was over the top. I find that - truly engrossing, Seth...
Barrels
Poor Hubert received a terrific thrashing, plus a Barrels
crippling kick in the fork, and disgraced, was Coopering
condemned to his room. Staves
James Fenimore...
To celebrate All Squids' Day, there was a face-jumping Cleft... padlocks [?]
competition at the Fool and Bladder. This ancient A.D. 79, no... 1889
amusement involved leaping onto volunteers' heads, Bastille...
lightly touching, then springing off. To draw blood or 1851...
squash a nose meant instant disqualification, and this Storming of.
was the skill of it. Seth One-Tooth was unquestioned Mohicans, Last Of
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Bastinado, Chinese torture "'Course not - she'm just lyin' there, never sayin' nothin',
Nasty bumpo [?] with 'er gob wide open catching flies and playin' with
(sings) Who's solly now? rats. Sir 'Enry says, she'm not gettin' no more grub til
Prints Bumper [?] she'm eaten the last lot."
Quoting, boating, jolly boating weather
Printed in Bembo Narrator
Ink; found in 1440 by Henry VI Reg Smeeton, smelling strongly of newspapers, patted
Serif... down the back of his wig.
Eton
Sans-serif. Smeeton
First catch your hare "Did you know, there is no proper name for the back of
Sherriff... the knees."
Without John Wayne. Narrator
Mrs. Beeton (Over band intro:) What was left standing of the village
Wain-check [?] band slurred into voice, and Old Scrotum, now flushed
Isabella, or the pot thousand [?] and enlivened with his seventh mug of scrumpy, needed
Strain-check [?] small press to clamber onto a bench, for a lively, if
Keats, Shelley, Percy Bysshe crack-throated rendition:
Chevis Rover [?]
Mrs. Mary Song: The Fool and Bladder
The Bartered Bride
Frankenstein (Vivian: vocal, banjolele, euphonium, tuba &
Smetana percussion; Julian Smedley: violin; Pete Moss: banjo &
Monster ego, Id, I? accordian; Steve Winwood: mandolin; Jim Cuomo:
Smeeton clarinet.)
Myself... amigo
Reg (Scrotum)
Me?
Regiment Acchahwrhhh....
Me
Means Out in the fields they farmers' boys are workin' 'ard, Sir,
Oneself Old Sol scorches bumpkin leather necks.
Me! Our Rosie's pullin' pints down at the Fool and Bladder
Me? Where rustics will relieve themselves of aches.
One? Last night drippin' custard on our rhubarb crumble,
Mimi... Now we'm drippin' sweat upon the soil.
Mimic Wake up six and sevens, still we mustn't grumble:
"One?" Weekends we forget about it all. Singing:
Eh? Lay down yer spade, draw up yer will, tomorrow comes
Zero! too quickly,
Me? Whistlin' Mad'moiselle from Armentieres,
Zero! A wise man knows his onions are strong and pickly:
I? Swill 'em down with dear old Rosie's beer,
One?
Zero. Prrrrrchhurrrr...
Zero? UhHuch...
Zero??
Aahh... The village populace is jumpin' on faces, catchin' the
Aahh... javelin,
Aahh... Headin' the shot.
[FX: wet thud - "Oooo.."]
Narrator
In the bitter cold, Old Scrotum had repaired the barbed Narrator
wire about Sir Henry's small but daunting prisoner-of- Florrie had spent a long time checking the bathroom and
war camp, and having no more duties till the evening, family necks for tide marks, and when she'd done, it was
had slogged it across the fields in time for the finals, and evening. There was a screech of tortured wheels, a
to down a couple of pints, or five. bump, a loud splash, and a bubbling:
Scrotum Florrie
"Aahhh - waste of good drinkin' time! I 'ad to go up and "That sounds like Phillipa and Tarquin now", said
see if the old girl 'ad finished 'er bloomin' breakfast!" Florrie.
Narrator Sir Henry
puffed Scrotum. The old girl was Sir Henry's mother, "Scrotum! Get the net - fish 'em out of the ornamental
once a great beauty, but now, unknown to Florrie, pond and hang 'em over the radiators."
bedridden in a remote chamber at Rawlinson End.
Narrator
Seth All was pregnant expectancy as the sopping Lord and
"Well, ehhhh... 'a-a-ad she then? Finished it, like?" Lady Portly entered the house.
Scrotum Tarquin
"'Course not; nice bit of smoked 'addock been there by "Oh yelp!", he yelped as he bumped his head on the
the side of the bed gettin' cold for the last three years", portcullis.
said Scrotum, taking a loud slurp.
Phillipa
Seth "Great sporrans!"
"By 'eck - three years? D-does she do 'owt?"
Narrator
Scrotum
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7
said Phillipa, tripping over the attractive boot-cleaner (Vivian: vocal, ukulele, kazoo, trombone, mouth
and getting a warm coconut-matting welcome stamped trumpet, talking-drum & tuba; Julian Smedley: violin;
indelibly on her face. Pete Moss: violin; Jim Cuomo : bass sax & clarinet.)
To see Phillipa was always a pleasure until she opened (Sir Henry over band intro:)
her mouth. Those ivory dentures needed daily attention
with a dilution of nitric acid. I love you... (sniff) Ah, yes I love you! Strong heady
fluid essence - I remember the first time we met,
By nine-thirty, dinner was finished, and the Rawlinsons paradisical enchantress: a close warm star-pimpled
and their guests lallygagged over the syllabub, or night; with one fur-tongued sip, transmogrification! I
sprawled back, blown out, picking their teeth. wanted to... needed to quaff enough to soak a dart board.
Song: Endroar Avec a fizzy... gin and tonic, I become somewhat
schitzophronic,
(Vivian: vocals, flageolets, ukulele, dum-dum and Then I've... half a mind to shtop... and half a mind to
sarrusophone; Steve Winwood: accordian & mandolin; have another;
Pete Moss: banjo.) But the brute-force beasht inshide un...leashes Mr.
Hyde,
(Round: Tarquin, Sir Henry, Phillipa, Florrie, Scrotum) So I... seek and find more liquid substitute for the teats
of sainted Mother.
Bash the tables, fill the glass, stuff the pheasant right,
P: steam the haggis right God's teeth, I've struggled gamely to resist:
F: fill the clock, stop the past year right [?] Gargled... pints of tea, and hailed myself Sir Vivor,
S: go stuff yerself, you old shite But people re-pewt me as a nissed.
Sod yer neighbours: sing out strong, tonight we all get Namely, I'm... Sir Rhosis of the Liver.
tight.
Bright the room with red festoon, green the bile to flow, With a maelstrom stomach I rise;
Overland or undersea, O Rawlinsons, What 'O. But the doppelgänger Beasht Inshide
H: Rawlinsons alone Shakes me and won't be exorcised,
S: Rawlinsons 'allo So I greedy, needy grasp the old Aristotle; got to!
Logs must crack when fire burns, Rawlinsons all roar
Sing upstanding while you can, or bellow from the floor. There's nothing quite like: a morning... cap, to start and
Dress the trees with village rogues, let 'em smell the end your day,
meat, Lights my way to fright. The Rawlinson motto - Omnes
Now bring in the village maids, while we're still on our Blotto.
feet.
Break the wind & loose your stays: Ladies first to start, (Snort) - Aahh!
Gentlemen together, really let us hear you shart!
Narrator
(Encore) After port, they retired to the smoking room, and settled
round the card table.
Sir Henry
(Under the last few bars:) "That was inedible muck, and Phillipa
there wasn't enough of it - blurgh!" "Do you mind if I smoke?"
Narrator Narrator
The curry lay heavy on Sir Henry's stomach like a royal asked Lady Phillipa, plucking an immense Meerschaum
corgi. pipe and pouch from her crocodile handbag.
[FX: slowed-down belch] Sir Henry
"Not if y'don't mind my wife throwing up."
Tarquin
"I say, how dare you belch in fwont of my wife!" Narrator
grunted Henry. Nonetheless, her ladyship stuffed the
Narrator bowl with a nauseous rum-soaked shag called Périque,
squeaked Lord Portly. Henry yawned: and lit up. Henry was half-cut and being important:
Sir Henry [Theme: Junglebunny]
"Sorry old man, I... (sniff) I didn't realise it was her (Vivian: talking-drum, bean, thumb-piano, clay drums,
turn." baconium & wooden cornet.)
Narrator Sir Henry
This ungracious rejoinder left Lord Portly stupefied as "Mind you, those jungle bunnies aren't without their own
Dr. Watson, and to cover his befuddlement, he helped peculiar brand of decency... (sniff) Give you an
himself to a liberal glass of Chateau Colostomy. example: they wouldn't kill a chap while he was asleep;
had to wake him up, because one of 'em, charming fella,
Sir Henry lips like inner tubes, told me - under torture, naturally -
"If I had all the money I'd spent on drink... I'd spend it that should the victim's spirit be out of his body at the
on drink." time of death, it would, on its return, be so outraged it
would pursue and torment the assassin for eternity -
Narrator mmm.. like the Greek... Harpics of mythology.
Lady Phillipa, herself nicely irrigated with horizontal Understandable if you... believe that sort of guff."
lubricant, leered appreciatively across at her host. Henry
glanced meaningfully at Florrie and put his finger to his Narrator
lips. Florrie, understanding immediately, went Lady Phillipa yawned behind her hand, and her dentures,
"brrbwbwbwbwbwbwbwbwbw", and Henry addressed ancient, yellowed and imperfect, locked.
his goblet.
With her cavernous mouth wide open, she could only
Song: The Beasht Inshide "Huhh! uh! uh!", and Sir Henry, savvying she was
gaping with wonderment at his yarn, gave her a boozy
wink. She was too polite to leave the room, and Henry,
2568ff4d-ba13-4a28-a13f-c3979377b0a8.doc (10 s)
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now refuelled with several great gulps of Southampton rest when suddenly... I felt it. The nuisance was, I was so
Red Rum, a brainstorming cocktail involving a large full of cold mackerel pie, I knew I'd have to blow off!
port, vodka, rum and horseradish sauce, continued. Huhh, imagine the fix, I was at bursting point when the
thing yurped into m' face. Turned out I'd been lying
Sir Henry there with a bloody great frog on m' chest for an hour.
"These're the only spirits I want tormenting my body... (sniff) Didn't have the heart to kill it, but I twisted its
(sniff) Personally, when you're dead you're gorn. arm something rotten. (sniff)"
Afterlife, aftershave, blugh! Don't hold with any of it."
Tarquin
Narrator "I was in Afwica", began Tarquin Maynard Portly.
He glared at Great Aunt Florrie, who was of quite a "Don't want to talk gibbewish, but I spent some time in
different opinion, an almost chandelier with pisces, St. the land of the Gibber, and believe me, those Gibbwoes
Christopher, crucifix, rabbit's foot and lucky whale's could get a budgewigar to phone Hawwods."
teeth about her neck.
Phillipa
Sir Henry "Och, canny as a Campbell Maynard"
"I don't give a toss what you've done with me when I've
shrugged off m' mortal coil... Shove a bit of flex up m' Narrator
back passage, stick a lightbulb in m' mouth and stand me said Phillipa Portly, née Maynard.
in the hall. (sniff) Mind you, if you're using electricity
you'll have to dry me out first!" Sir Henry
"Maynards? So much incest in that family, even the
Narrator bulldog's got a club foot."
Florrie had once mentioned instant karma to Henry, but
he thought it was some kind of tranquilliser. There was Phillipa
really little point now, he was too far gone. "Aye, but the flash of the clay pipes, the skirl of the
morays!..."
Sir Henry
"Consulting a book called Itching before she goes to the Narrator
bog... God's teeth, what did I marry?" Profoundly moved, serpent shaquwa [?] shivering,
speed, bonnie boa, Phillipa gave tongue:
Narrator
Florrie smoothed the now-greying hairs back from her Song: Rawlinsons and Maynards
temples, and tucked them neatly under her flying
buttresses. Thank Clapton, she thought, that John's early (Vivian: vocal, banjolele, percussion, jabbamok &
death precluded him from knowing what kind of swine cacaphone; Steve Winwood: mini-moog & banjolin.)
his father really was. She recalled the affair of the
rubbers, but there had been happier times... (Phillipa)
[Theme: soft elaboration of the Rawlinson End theme, as We're Rawlinsons and Maynards, completely self-
at the end] containards,
'Tis said we're bulletheads; but we're a much much nicer
She sighed deeply, and her mind strode back some thirty class,
years on sensible brogue feet: Henry, in uniform, the We're Maynards, sons of Rawlin. Inter-bred: our chins
blink of brass buttons, then, after, to dance the night are fallin',
away. What foolishness now it seemed to a woman We're no moribund, we're smarty-boots. Here Dodos
already in the twilight of her autumn. dinne roost.
Yet, what a kind man he'd always been: she recalled the Where Rawlin throbs: we swollen knobs, effete, wee,
time Mr. Cumberpatch, the gardener, sweet old chap, Caterwaulin' snobs say: stuff your telephones and stuff,
hated wasps, always wore bicycle clips when mowing We live aloof and boast.
the lawn, had fallen badly in the orchard, and broken his
leg. Why, Henry fairly raced back to the house for his Narrator
pistol: he couldn't bear to see even the lowliest of For a leisurely few hours, they cheated at Coon-can,
creatures in pain. Snap, Bezique, Bugger Your Neighbour, and Pope Joan
- each five minutes pleasingly punctuated with refills of
Again she heard the Black and Decker two-speed drill embalming fluid.
start horribly up in the downstairs bathroom, and the
high-pitched screams of Sir Henry doing his own Florrie
fillings. Curious how the Rawlinson family distrusted "You know, if filthy fingers were trumps", nibbled
dentists: she remembered the night of Arbuthnot's Florrie "why Henry, dear, what a splendid hand you'd
honeymoon in Vienna. He knew he could never face his have."
new wife without a huge and immediate extraction, and
so, he fastened a length of string about the tooth that Narrator
pained him, and the other end to the door of the cage- At this totally unexpected raspberry, Sir Henry took
like lift, and waited. But to no effect: the lift ascended, umbrage, and, with a snort, staggered over to the
nothing happened. Tearing open the iron door, majestic log fire, where he swayed before the blaze
Arbuthnot immediately threw himself down the shaft. pulling fearsome bulldog Churchillian scowls in the
Few men would have had the intelligence to do that. mirror, when Lady Staines, an incorrigible gamester,
proposed a hand of Quadrille.
Florrie
"You know, Ralph could play billiards on horseback Phillipa
before he was fourteen." "Sir Henry", she burred, "would you like to be the fourth
man?"
Sir Henry
"Well I could play blow-football with m'bottom when I
was a youngster. Now, about these chaps [FX: drums
etc.] (sniff) They put a hand on your chest to wake you Narrator
up. One chink of reality - you're gone. Slit your throat, Henry glared with dragon-nostrilled distaste at her
gouge your eyes out, no compunction. I remember, I was wattled neck, gorgonzola legs, and grotesque tumescent
alone in m'tent when I felt it; I was enjoying.. a... fitful udders.
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Sir Henry
"My dear lady", he intoned, crossing the room, and
leaning close, "I wouldn't even've liked to've been the
first man."
Narrator
Sir Henry set down his drink, and whistled to the great
hound stretched on the rug, chewing at an old gout
bandage. Tail wagging, Bonzo padded over and placed
his huge grey head on the felt table. Henry chose, then
dealt the animal three cards face down.
Sir Henry
"Good lad, now... find the lady."
Narrator
The dog snuffled wetly at Phillipa Portly, shook its head
sadly, then without hesitation returned to his bandage.
There was a scuffling at the door, a sound, as though a
hot water bottle were stifling a yawn, and at that instant,
Hubert, shamefaced, ventured into the room. Henry
glowered at his brother; Florrie turned a cold eye
towards him. Normally, he didn't enjoy Arabic food, but
he was so excited, he managed to swallow it. Hubert
announced that to make up for his past behaviour, he
would
Hubert
"Like to entertain everybody with a bird impression."
Narrator
To lend excitement and colour to his performance,
Hubert, with all the assurance of a sleepwalker, crossed
to the wind-up gramophone and put on some old
papadums Henry had brought back from India.
[FX: needle on fried dough]
[Theme: (red flock wallpaper!) Papadumb]
(Vivian: balaliaka, phonofiddle, bina, percussion &
Th'at; Steve Winwood: balaliaka; Julian Smedley:
mandolin.)]
Turning it up full volume, he began hopping about on
one leg.
Hubert
"Chirrup... chirrup... Chirrup!"
Narrator
he mimicked, winking at the ladies. He then produced a
handful of worms from his trouser pocket, and, with
apparent relish, stuffed them into his mouth. Pop-eyed,
chewing furiously, and flapping his arms, with the pinky
tentacles writhing horribly about his chin, he advanced
Hubert
"Chirrup! Chirrup!"
Narrator
to the table. Lady Phillipa opened her handbag, and,
with heaving shoulders, buried her head in it.
[Theme: Rawlinson End, somewhat elaborated,
accordion prominent.]
Narrator
(Over playout): Next time, Hubert, ever the gentleman,
offers his seat to a lady in a public lavatory. There is
considerable misunderstanding.
[Theme: improv. continues, then finally gives it a
relatively straight run through, the solo violin coming in
to take us to...]
The End
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