Sketch:
Exterior, a large, tasteful, Georgian rich person's house with
extensive gardens beautifully tended, croquet hoops on the lawn -- all
in superb taste, nothing vulgar. The sun shines tastefully. The atmosphere
is calm. Birds sing. Sound of lawnmowers and cricket in the distance.
Laughter from the tennis court. Sound of gardener sharpening spades
in the potting shed. Out of vision, a Red Indian struggles to free himself
from the rope bonds that bind him. We hear `Where does a dream begin'
being played on a cracked record.
CAPTION:
1942
Egypt crossed out
Ecuador crossed out
Ethiopia crossed out
England
The caption fades and we cut to an upper-class drawing room. Father,
mother and daughter having tea. Four motionless servants stand behind
them.
Father (Graham)
I say …
Daughter (Carol)
Yes, daddy?
Father
Croquet hoops look damn pretty this afternoon.
Daughter
Frightfully damn pretty.
Mother (Eric)
They're coming along awfully well this year.
Father
Yes, better than your Aunt Lavinia's croquet hoops.
Daughter
Ugh! -- dreadful tin things.
Mother
I did tell her to stick to wood.
Father
Yes, you can't beat wood … Gorn!
Mother
What's gorn dear?
Father
Nothing, nothing, I just like the word. It gives me confidence.
Gorn … gorn. It's got a sort of woody quality about it. Gorn.
Gorn. Much better than `newspaper' or `litterbin'.
Daughter
Frightful words.
Mother
Perfectly dreadful.
Father
Ugh! Newspaper! … litterbin … dreadful tinny sort of words.
Tin, tin, tin.
The daughter bursts into tears.
Mother
Oh, dear, don't say `tin' to Rebecca, you know how it upsets
her.
Father
(to the daughter) Sorry old horse.
Mother
Sausage!
Father
Sausage … there's a good woody sort of word, `sausage' …
gorn.
Daughter
Antelope.
Father
Where? On the lawn? (he picks up a rifle)
Daughter
No, no, daddy … just the word.
Father
Don't want an antelope nibbling the hoops.
Daughter
No, antelope … sort of nice and woody type of thing.
Mother
Don't think so, Becky old chap.
Father
No, no, `antelope', `antelope' -- tinny sort of word (the
daughter bursts into tears) Oh! Sorry old man …
Mother
Really, Mansfield.
Father
Well, she's got to come to terms with these things … seemly
… prodding … vacuum … leap …
Daughter
(miserably) Hate leap.
Mother
Perfectly dreadful.
Daughter
Sort of PVC-y sort of word, don't you know.
Mother
Lower-middle.
Father
Bound!
Mother
Now you're talking.
Father
Bound … Vole … Recidivist.
Mother
Bit tinny. (the daughter howls) Oh! Sorry, Becky old
beast. (the daughter runs out crying)
Father
Oh dear, suppose she'll be gorn for a few days now.
Mother
Caribou!
Father
Splendid word.
Mother
No dear … nibbling the hoops.
Father
(he fires a shot) Caribou gorn.
Mother
(laughs politely)
Father
Intercourse.
Mother
Later, dear.
Father
No, no, the word, `intercourse' -- good and woody … inter
… course … pert … pert thighs … botty, botty, botty …
(the mother leaves the room) … erogenous … zone … concubine
… erogenous zone! Loose woman … erogenous zone … (the mother
returns and throws a bucket of water over him) Oh thank you,
dear … you know, it's a funny thing, dear … all the naughty
words sound woody.
Mother
Really, dear? … How about tit?
Father
Oh dear, I hadn't thought about that. Tit. Tit. Oh, that's very
tinny isn't it? (the daughter returns) Ugh! Tinny, tinny
… (the daughter runs out crying) Oh dear … ocelot …
wasp … yowling … Oh dear, I'm bored … I'd better go and have
a bath, I suppose.
Mother
Oh really, must you dear? You've had nine today.
Father
All right, I'll sack one of the servants … Simkins! … nasty
tinny sort of name. Simkins! (he exits)
A pilot from the RAF banter
scene enters.
Pilot (Michael)
I say, mater, cabbage crates coming over the briny.
Mother
(frowns and shakes her head) Sorry dear, don't understand.
Pilot
Er … cowcatchers creeping up on the conning towers …
Mother
No … sorry … old sport.
Pilot
Caribou nibbling at the croquet hoops.
Mother
Yes, Mansfield shot one in the antlers.
Pilot
Oh, jolly good show. Is 'Becca about?
Mother
No, she's gorn off.
Pilot
What a super woody sort of phrase. `Gorn orff'.
Mother
Yes, she's gorn orff because Mansfield said `tin' to her.
Pilot
Oh, what rotten luck … oh well … whole afternoon to kill
… better have a bath I suppose.
Mother
Oh, Gervaise do sing me a song …
Pilot
Oh, OK.
Mother
Something woody.
The pilot launches into a quite enormously loud rendering of `She's
going to marry Yum Yum'. The impact of this on the mother causes her
to have a heart attack. She dies and the song ends.
Pilot
For … she's going to marry Yum Yum … oh crikey. The old
song finished her orff.
Father
(entering) What's urp?
Pilot
I'm afraid Mrs Vermin Jones appears to have passed orn.
Father
Dead, is she?
Pilot
'Fraid so.
Father
What a blow for her.
