script4

Episode 1 - Captain Cook

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[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?

---

Episode 2 - Corporal Punishment

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

(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.

---

Episode 3 - Major Star

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

(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)

---
Episode 4 - Private Plane

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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          Excuse me, Sir.  Seventeen square feet, Sir.

Melchett         Excellent.  So you see, young Blackadder didn't die horribly
                 in vain after all.

George           If he did die, Sir.

Darling          Tch!

Melchett         That's the spirit, George.  If nothing else works, then a
                 total pig-headed unwillingness to look facts in the face
                 will see us through.

Scene 12: A German Prison Cell
------------------------------

[BA is seated.  Baldrick is sitting on the floor.  There is a jangling of
 keys, the cell door opens and the Red Baron enters.]

von Richthoven   So!  I am the Red Baron von Richthoven and you are the two
                 English flying aces responsible for the spilling of the
                 precious German blood of many of my finest and my
                 blondest friends.  I have waited many months to do this.

[von Richthoven kisses BA on both cheeks.]

BA               You may have been right, Balders.  Looks like we're going
                 to get rogered to death after all.

Baldrick         Do you want me to go first, Sir?

[von Richthoven laughs.]

von Richthoven   You English and your sense of humour.  During your brief
                 stay I look forward to learning more of your wit, your
                 punning and your amusing jokes about the breaking of the wind.

BA               Well, Baldrick's the expert there.

Baldrick         I certainly am, Sir.

[von Richthoven laughs.]

von Richthoven   How lucky you English are to find the toilet so amusing.
                 For us, it is a mundane and functional item.  For you, the
                 basis of an entire culture.

[Baldrick laughs, von Richthoven slaps him in the face.]

von Richthoven   I must now tell you of the full horror of what awaits you.

BA               Ah, you see, Balders.  Dress it up in any amount of pompous
                 verbal diarrhoea, and the message is `Squareheads down for
                 the big Boche gang-bang'.

von Richthoven   As an officer and a gentleman, you will be looking forward
                 to a quick and noble death.

BA               Well, obviously.

von Richthoven   But, instead, an even worse fate awaits you.  Tomorrow, you
                 will be taken back to Germany . . .

BA               Here it comes!

von Richthoven   . . . to a convent school, outside Heidelberg, where you will
                 spend the rest of the war teaching the young girls home
                 economics.

BA               Er . . .

von Richthoven   For you, as a man of honour, the humiliation will be
                 unbearable.

BA               Oh, I think you'll find we're tougher than you imagine.

von Richthoven   Ha!  I can tell how much you are suffering by your long
                 faeces.

BA               We're not suffering too much to say `thank you'.  Thank you.
                 Say `thank you', Baldrick.

Baldrick         Thank you, Baldrick.

[von Richthoven laughs.]

von Richthoven   How amusing.  But now, forgive me.  I must take to the skies
                 once again.  Very funny.  The noble Lord Flasheart still
                 eludes me.

BA               I think you'll find he's overrated.  Bad breath and . . .
                 impotent, they say.

[von Richthoven laughs.]

von Richthoven   Sexual innuendo.

[von Richthoven laughs.]

von Richthoven   But enough of this.  As you say in England, I must fly.

[von Richthoven laughs.]

von Richthoven   Perhaps I will master this humour after all, ja?

BA               I wouldn't be too optomistic.

von Richthoven   Oh, and the little fellow, if you get lonely in the night,
                 I'm in the old chateau.  There's no pressure.

[von Richthoven starts to leave.  As he moves up the steps to the cell door
 he prat-falls and laughs.]

von Richthoven   Prat-fall!

[von Richthoven leaves the cell, laughing as he goes.]

Baldrick         Is it really true, Sir?  Is the war really over for us?

BA               Yup!  Out of the war and teaching nuns how to boil eggs.
                 For us, the Great War is finito.  A war that would be a damn
                 sight simpler if we'd just stayed in England and shot fifty
                 thousand of our men a week.  No more mud, death, rats, bombs,
                 shrapnel, whizz-bangs, barbed wire and those bloody awful
                 songs that have the word `whoops' in the title.

[BA notices that the cell door has been left ajar.]

BA               Oh, damn!  He's, he's left the door open.

Baldrick         Oh, good!  We can escape, Sir.

BA               Are you mad, Baldrick?  I'll find someone to lock it for us.

[BA opens the door to find George standing there.]

George           Ssh!  Keep-ee!  Mum's the word!  Not 'arf, or what?

[BA shuts the door in George's face.]

Baldrick         Sir, why did you just slam the door on Lieutenant George?

BA               I can't believe it.  Go away!

[George pushes the door open and enters the cell.]

George           It's me.  It's me.

BA               But what the hell are you doing here?

George           Oh, never mind the hows, and the whys and the do-you-mind-
                 if-I-don'ts.

BA               But it would have taken a superman to get in here.

George           Well, it's funny you should say that, because as it
                 happens I did have some help from a rather spiffing bloke.
                 He's taken a break from some crucial top-level shagging.

[Flasheart smashes through the cell door, swinging on a rope.  As he lands,
 he trumpets his own arrival.]

Flasheart        It's me.  Hurray!

George and Baldrick
                 Hurray!

[Flasheart smashes Baldrick in the face.  Baldrick falls to the floor.]

Flasheart        God's potatoes, George.  You said noble brother friars were
                 in the lurch.  If I'd known you meant old Slack Bladder and
                 the mound of the hound of the Baskervilles, I'd probably
                 have let them stew in their own juice.

[Baldrick rises.]

Flasheart        And let me tell you, if I ever tried that, I'd probably
                 drown.

[Baldrick laughs.  Flasheart laughs and smacks Baldrick in the face.
 Baldrick wings floor-ward again.]

Flasheart        Still, since I'm here, I may as well do-oo it, as the
                 Bishop said to the netball team.  Come on, chums!

[Flasheart runs out of the cell, followed by George and Baldrick.  BA sits
 down and begins to moan, faking an injury.]

BA               Aah!  Ow!  Aah!

[Flasheart runs back into the cell, followed by George and Baldrick.]

Flasheart        Come on.

BA               Yes, yes.  Look, I'm sorry, chaps, but I've splintered my
                 pancreas.  Erm, and I seem to have this terrible cough.

[BA fakes a couple of coughs.]

BA               Coff-guards!  Coff-guards!

Flasheart        Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait a minute.  Now I may be
                 packing the kind of tackle that you'd normally expect to find
                 swinging about between the hindlegs of a Grand National
                 winner, but I'm not totally stupid, and I've got the kind of
                 feeling you'd rather we hadn't come.

BA               No, no, no, I'm very grateful.  It's just that I'd slow you
                 up.

Flasheart        I think I'm beginning to understand.

BA               Are . . . are you?

Flasheart        Just because I can give multiple orgasms to the furniture
                 just by sitting on it, doesn't mean that I'm not sick of this
                 damn war: the blood, the noise, the endless poetry.

BA               Is that really what you think, Flasheart?

[Flasheart whips out his pistol and threatens BA.]

Flasheart        Course it's not what I think.  Now get out that door before
                 I redecorate that wall an interesting new colour called
                 `hint of brain'.

BA               Excellent.  Well, that's clear.  Let's get back to that
                 lovely war, then!

Flasheart        Woof!

George           Woof!

Baldrick         Bark!

[As the group moves to leave, von Richthoven appears at the cell door.]

von Richthoven   Not so fast, Blackadder.

BA               Oh, damn!  Foiled again!  What bad luck!

[von Richthoven enters the cell.]

von Richthoven   Ah, and the Lord Flasheart.  This is indeed an honour.
                 Finally, the two greatest gentleman fliers in the world meet.
                 Two men of honour, who have jousted together in the
                 cloud-strewn glory of the skies, face to face at last.  How
                 often I have rehearsed this moment of destiny in my dreams.
                 The panoply to encapsulate the unspoken nobility of a
                 comradeship.

[Flasheart shoots von Richthoven.]

Flasheart        What a poof!  Come on!

[All exit the cell, cheering.]

Scene 13: Captain Darling's Office
----------------------------------

[Darling is dusting the office door.  BA opens the door in Darling's face.]

BA               Hello, Darling.

[Darling retreats backwards towards his desk as BA enters.]

Darling          Good Lord.  Captain Blackadder.  I thought, I thought you
                 were . . .

BA               Playing tennis?

Darling          No.

BA               Dead?

Darling          Well, yes, unfortunately.

BA               Well, I had a lucky escape.  No thanks to you.  This is a
                 friend of mine.

[Flasheart is standing on Darling's desk.  Darling turns around and finds
 himself staring at Flasheart's crotch.]

Darling          Argh!

Flasheart        Hi, creep.

BA               Flasheart, this is Captain Darling.

Flasheart        Captain Darling?  Funny name for a guy, isn't it?

[Flasheart jumps down from the desk.]

Flasheart        Last person I called `Darling' was pregnant twenty seconds
                 later.  Hear you couldn't be bothered to help old Slacky
                 here.

Darling          Er, well, it . . . it wasn't quite that, Sir.  It's just
                 that we weighed up the pros and cons, and decided it wasn't a
                 reasonable use of our time and resources.

Flasheart        Well, this isn't a reasonable use of my time and resources,
                 but I'm going to do it anyway.

Darling          What?

Flasheart        This!

[Flasheart head-butts Darling.  Darling groans and falls backwards across his
 desk.]

Flasheart        All right, Slacky!  All right, Slacky!  I've got to fly.
                 Two million chicks, only one Flasheart.  And remember, if
                 you want something, take it.  Bobby!

[Bobby enters the office and salutes.]

Bobby            My Lord!

Flasheart        I want something!

Bobby            Take it!

Flasheart        Woof!

[Bobby starts to unbutton her top as she leaves the office, followed by
 Flasheart.]

BA               Git!

[General Melchett enters from his office.]

Melchett         Ah, Blackadder.  So you escaped.

BA               Yes, Sir.

Melchett         Bravo!

[Melchett notices the unconcious Darling.]

Melchett         Don't slouch, Darling.

BA               I was wondering whether, having been tortured by the most
                 vicious sadist in the German army, I might be allowed a
                 week's leave to recuperate, Sir.

Melchett         Excellent idea.  Your commanding officer would have to be
                 stark raving mad to refuse you.

BA               Well, you are my commanding officer.

Melchett         Well?

BA               Can I have a week's leave to recuperate, Sir?

Melchett         Certainly not!

BA               Thank you, Sir.

Melchett         Baaaaaa!

---

Episode 5 - General Hospital

---------------------------------------------------------------------------


(George, Edmund and Baldrick are in their room in the trenches)

George: I spy with my little eye (he looks behind his shoulder and sees a
        mug) something beginning with `M'.

Baldrick: Erm...

George: (encouraging) MMM...

Baldrick: Erm...

George: (encouraging) MMM... (he bobs his head down to within inches of the
        mug a few times)

Baldrick: Mmm...

        (this carries on for a while)

George: MMMuh... (he picks up the mug and holds it in front of him)

Baldrick: Mmm...

Edmund: (wishing he could read his book in peace; can't stand this carrying
        on any longer; shouts) MUG!!!

George: Oh, I say, well done, sir. Your turn.

Edmund: I spy with my bored little eye something beginning with `T'.

Baldrick: Breakfast!

Edmund: What?

Baldrick: My breakfast always begins with tea, and I have a little sausage,
          and a egg with some little soldiers.

Edmund: Baldrick, when I said it begins with `T', I was talking about a letter.

Baldrick: Nah, it never begins with a letter; the postman don't come 'til
          10.30.

Edmund: I can't go on with this. (stands) George, take over.

George: All right, sir. Erm, I spy with my litle eye something beginning
        with `R'.

Baldrick: (raises his arm, even though he's the only one playing now) Army!

Edmund: For God's sake, Baldrick! `Army' starts with an `A'. He's looking for
        something that starts with an `R'. RRRrrrrr!

Baldrick: Motorbike!

Edmund: What?

Baldrick: A motorbike starts with a `RRRRRrrrrrrrrrm! RRRRRRrrrrrrrrrr--'

Edmund: All right, right, right, right. My turn again. What begins with `Come
        here' and ends with `Ow'?

Baldrick: I don't know.

Edmund: Come here.

        (Baldrick moves closer to Edmund; Edmund punches Baldrick in the face)

Baldrick: Ow! (falls to the ground)

Edmund: Well done.

George: No (laughs), I don't think you've quite got the hang of this
        game, to be honest, sir. I tell you what, let's try another one.
        Erm, I hear with my little ear, er, something beginning with
        `B'.

Edmund: What?

George: Bomb.

Edmund: I can't hear a bomb.

George: Listen very carefully.

        (a bomb approaching whistle is heard)

Edmund: Ah yes.

        (The bomb explodes)


(in hospital; George is wounded from that bomb and is talking to Nurse
Mary about a letter he's writing; Mary is massaging his foot)

George: Finished.

Mary: Come on, then.

George: All right, and then you can tell me what you think, but be honest,
        now.

Mary: (giggly) I will!

George: All right, then. (reads) "Dear Uncle H., how are you?" (Nurse laughs)
        Yeah, it's good isn't it? Erm, "It's beastly rotten luck being laid
        up here, but everyone's very nice, and at least now I can write to
        you every day." Oh, ahem, then I put in that silly bit about, er...

Mary: What? What?

George: No, it's, er...

Mary: Oh, come on, you can tell me.

George: "And the nurse is an absolute peach." (buries his face in the letter,
        embarrassed) Anyway, "After the explosion, Captain Blackadder was
        marvellous. He joked and joked. `You lucky lucky lucky bastard!' he
        cried. Then he lay on his back, stuck his foot over the top of the
        trench, and shouted, `Over here, Fritz! What about me? What about
        me?' "

Mary: Well, Captain Blacky does indeed sound a most witty and courageous chap.

George: Yes, and he's very amusing and brave, as well. Not to mention he's as
        clever as a chap with three heads!

        (Mary stands, ruffles George's hair and fluffs his pillows)

George: Thanks ever so much. You really are terribly kind, as well as being
        dash pretty to boot.

Mary: (having retrieved a teddy bear from behind the pillows) Oh dear.
      A fluffy pillow and a big cheery smile is the least my lovely boyses
      deserve. (gives George the teddy bear) Now, you take a little trip to
      Dozy Land. (george takes the bear and begins sucking his thumb) You've
      got visitors coming, and we don't want to be all tired and cross (??),
      do we?

George: Absolutely not, no. It'll be so jolly to see Baldrick and the cap
        again. They'll have been worried sick about me, you know.

        (Edmund and Baldrick enter)

Edmund: All right, where is the malingering git?

George: Hello, Cap! Pip pip, Balders! Here I lie.

Baldrick: Nice to see the lieutenant looking so well, sir.

Edmund: Of course he's looking well -- there's nothing wrong with him.

George: Pff! (to Mary) Didn't I tell you the captain was a super (cope? [as
        a made-up noun form of `copesetic'?])!

Mary: (bubbly) You did! (stands) Well, Captain, you are indeed fortunate to
      have a loyal friend like darling Georgy.

Edmund: Mm, I think you might be under a slight misapprehension here, Nurse.
        I lost closer friends than `Darling Georgy' the last time I was
        deloused. Now, if you will excuse me, I've got better things to do
        than exchange pleasantries with a wet blanket. Would you get out?

        (Mary is agape)

Edmund: We've got some important military business...

Nurse: Well, ten minutes only, then. (leaves)

Edmund: Right, porkface, where's the grub? (sits in bedside chair)

George: Pardon?

Edmund: Come on, the moment that collection of inbred mutants you call your
        relatives heard you were sick, they'll have sent you a hamper the
        size of Westminster Abbey.

George: My family is not inbred!

Edmund: Come on, somewhere outside (Saffon-Waldon?) there's an uncle who's
        seven feet tall with no chin and an Adam's apple that makes him
        look as though he's constantly trying to swallow a ballcock.

George: I have not got any uncles like that! Anyway, he lives in
        (Walton-on-the-Naise?).

Edmund: Well, exactly. Now, where's the tuck?

George: Well, there were one or two things, yes. There was, er, a potted
        turkey, a (??) jelly, three tinned sheep, and, er, twelve hundred
        chocolates. But, in my weakened state...

Edmund: Yes?

George: ...I, er, I ate them.

Edmund: What?

George: Well, Nurse Mary nibbled a trotter or two, but... Oh, Cap, she's such
        a wonderful girl. She helps me with all my letters, she can do all the
        German spelling and she's terribly good at punctuation.

Edmund: I don't care if she can sing `I May Be a Tiny Chimney Sweep, But I've
        Got an Enormous Brush'. Come on, Baldrick -- the only thing we're
        going to get for free around here is dysentery.

Baldrick: (softly) But, sir, I haven't given Lieutenant George my bunch of
          flowers yet.

Edmund: Alright, hurry up, hurry up.

Baldrick: Here you are, sir, I got you these. (holds up some flower stems, sans
          the actual flowers) Unfortunately, they've had their heads shot off.

Edmund: Whereas (??) say it with flowers, Baldrick says it with stalks.

        (Mary enters during that line)

Mary: Well, Captain, I'm afraid you'll have to leave us now.

Edmund: Oh really?

Mary: Yes. You must report to General Melchett immediately.

Edmund: Oh great. Yet another tempting opportunity for suicide beckons.

George: Gosh, I wish I could come with you, you know, sir.

Mary: Oh no, you must take care, my brave hero. (puts hand on his forehead)

Edmund: `Brave hero', Nurse? I was more wounded the last time I clipped my
        toenails.

Mary: (to George) Take no notice of him.

Edmund: (in a sarcastically sympathetic voice) Yes, pay no attention to the
        nasty man.

Mary: Look, If I can't give my brave boys a kind word and a big smile, what
      can I give them?

Edmund: Well, one or two ideas do suggest themselves, but you'd probably
        think they were unhygenic.

        (Mary leaves in huff, while another patient, Smith, limps in)

Edmund: Come on, Baldrick. (turns to Smith) Hello, what's your name?

Smith: (with German accent) My name is Mr Smith.

Edmund: I'm sorry that you've been landed opposite to such a total git, Smith.
        It's bad enough to be wounded without having to share a ward with
        Bananabrain.

Smith: Danke shoen, danke shoen; ich bin (gans?) comfortable. (??)

Edmund: (slightly puzzled) Yes... (leaves)


(in Melchett's office)

        (knock at door)

Melchett: Enter.

        (Edmund comes in, but finds the room apparently empty)

Edmund: (puts his hat down on the desk corner) Hello?

        (The camera view changes to just behind the other side of the desk.
         It's the view of a person. Edmund turns round and the view ducks
         completely behind the desk for a moment before peeking up again.
         Across the room, the legs behind a large map include human legs in
         uniform. Edmund approaches the map. The person through whose eyes
         we're witnessing this comes out from behind the desk and follows
         Edmund across the room, and starts to breathe heavily. Edmund sees a
         panel in the map and slides it open, revealing General Melchett's
         face. Just then, our eyes' owner, Captain Darling, jumps Edmund
         from behind. The camera view changes. Darling is holding his
         revolver as he forces Edmund to the fireplace, where a fire is
         burning.)

Darling: Right! Spread 'em! (he frisks Edmund, taking away his gun; he speaks
         to Melchett) Right, he's clear, sir.

Melchett: Beah!

Edmund: Can anyone tell me what's going on?

Darling: Security, Blackadder.

Edmund: Security?

Melchett: (coming out from behind the map) `Security' isn't a dirty word,
          Blackadder. `Crevice' is a dirty word, but `security' isn't.

Edmund: So, in the name of security, sir, everyone who enters the room has
        to have his bottom fondled by this drooling pervert.

Darling: Only doing my job, Blackadder.

Edmund: Oh, well, how lucky you are, then, that your job is also your hobby.

Melchett: Now there's another dirty word: `job'!

Edmund: Sir, is there something the matter?

Melchett: You're damn right there is something the matter. (heads for desk)
          Something sinister and something grotesque. And what's worse is that
          it's going on right here under my very nose. (sits behind desk)

Edmund: (protesting) Sir, your moustache is lovely...

Darling: What the general means, Blackadder, is: There's a leak.

Melchett: Now `leak' is a positively disgusting word.

Darling: The Germans seem to be able to anticipate our every move. We send up
         an aeroplane, there's a Jerry squadron parked behind the nearest
         cloud; we move troops to (??), the Germans have bought the
         whole town's supply of lavatory paper. In short: A German spy is
         giving away every one of our battle plans.

Melchett: You look surprised, Blackadder.

Edmund: I certainly am, sir. I didn't realise we had any battle plans.

Melchett: Well, of course we have! How else do you think the battles are
          directed?

Edmund: Our battles are directed, sir?

Melchett: Well, of course they are, Blackadder -- directed according to the
          Grand Plan.

Edmund: Would that be the plan to continue with total slaughter until every-
        one's dead except Field Marshal Haig, Lady Haig and their tortoise,
        Alan?

Melchett: Great Scott! (stands) Even you know it! Guard! Guard! Bolt all the
          doors; hammer large pieces of crooked wood against all the windows!
          This security leak is far worse than we'd imagined!

Darling: So you see, Blackadder, Field Marshal Haig is most anxious to
         eliminate all these German spies.

Melchett: Filthy Hun weasels fighting their dirty underhand war!

Darling: And, fortunately, one of *our* spies--

Melchett: Splendid fellows, brave heroes, risking life and limb for Blighty!

Darling: ...has discovered that the leak is coming from the Field Hospital.

Edmund: You think there's a German spy in the Field Hospital? I think you
        might be right, there.

Melchett: Your job, Blackadder, is to root this spy out. How long do you think
          you'll need?

Edmund: (looks at his watch) Ooh, er...

Melchett: You'll have to be away from the trenches for some time.

Edmund: Six months?

Darling: (??), Blackadder. You've got three weeks.

Melchett: Yes, three weeks to smoke the bugger out! Use any method you see
          fit. Personally, I'd recommend you get hold of a cocker spaniel,
          tie your suspect down on a chair, with a potty on his head, then
          pop his todger between two flowery (bamps?) and shout, "Dinnertime,
          Fido!" However, if you are successful, I shall need you back here
          permanently, to head up my new security network, Operation Winkle.

Edmund: Winkle?

Melchett: Yes -- to winkle out the spies.

Darling: (upset that he wasn't offered the position) You never mentioned
         this to me, sir!

Melchett: Well, we have to have some secrets, don't we, Darling...

Edmund: Right, well, I'll be back in three weeks. (takes his hat and revolver)

Melchett: Excellent. And if you come back with the information, Captain
          Darling will pump you thoroughly in the debriefing room.

Edmund: Not while I have my strength, he won't. (exits, as Darling points at
        him angrily)

Darling: Damnation, sir! His insolence makes my blood boil! Once more, I
         don't trust him, sir. I think it would be best if I went to the
         hospital myself, to keep an eye on him.

Melchett: What, spy on our own spy as he searches for their spy? Yes, why
          not? -- sounds rather fun. You'll have to go under cover...

Darling: Oh, definitely, sir.

Melchett: You'll need some sort of wound, a convincing wound...

Darling: Naturally, sir.

Melchett: Yes. (shoots Darling in the foot; Darling screams and falls down,
          his hand weakly poking up from behind the side of the desk) Yes,
          that looks quite convincing. (Darling's hand finally falls behind
          the desk)


(back in the room at the trenches)

Edmund: Right, pack me a toothbrush, Baldrick. We're going on holiday.

Baldrick: Hurray! Where to?

Edmund: Hospital.

Baldrick: Oh, no, I hate hostipals. My grandfather went into one, and when he
          come out, he was dead.

Edmund: He was also dead when he went in, Baldrick. He'd been run over by a
        traction engine.

Baldrick: I don't like them doctors. If they start poking around inside me--

Edmund: Baldrick, why would anyone wish to poke around inside you?

Baldrick: They might find me interesting.

Edmund: Baldrick, I find the Great Northern and Metropolitan Sewage System
        interesting, but that doesn't mean that I want to put on some
        rubber gloves and pull things out if it with a pair of tweezers.

Baldrick: Still, I tell you what, sir, you might have a chance to get to know
          that pretty nurse. (tries to make a cute face)

Edmund: No, thank you, Baldrick. She's as wet as a fish's wet bits. I'd rather
        get to know you.

Baldrick: I'm not available, sir. I'm waiting for Miss Right to come along and
          gather me up in her arms.

Edmund: Yes, I wouldn't be too hopeful; we'd have to get her arms out of a
        straightjacket first. Now get packing!


(at hospital; George is writing another letter, and reading it out to Mary
and Smith)

Smith: So very interesting! Please do continue. (??)

George: Right, then I go on to say, "The orders came through for us to
        advance at 0800 hours in a pincer movement."

Mary: Gosh, how exciting!

George: Yes, well, hmm...

        (enter Edmund)

Edmund: 'afternoon, George.

George: Ah, hello, Cap!

Mary: Ah, Captain. I hope you're going to conduct yourself with a little more
      decorum this time.

Edmund: No, I am going to conduct myself with no decorum. Shove off!

        (Mary leaves in a huff; Edmund waves his hat at Smith, to make him
         leave the bedside)

Smith: (??), Herr Kapitan! (??)!

George: So, Cap, what's going on?

Edmund: Well, there's a German spy in the hospital and it's my job to find
        him.

George: A Ger--? Well, snakes alive! Exciting stuff, eh? Wait a minute;
        I think I might have a plan already.

Edmund: What is it?

George: Well, have a look through the list of patients and see if there's
        anyone here whose name begins with `von'. Well, it's almost bound
        to be your bloke!

Edmund: I think we may find that he's using a false name, actually, George.

George: Oh, crikey. Well, that's hardly fair, now, is it...

Baldrick: I, too, have a cunning plan to catch the spy, sir.

Edmund: Do you, Baldrick, do you...

Baldrick: You go round the hostipal and ask everyone, "Are you a German spy?"

Edmund: Yes, I must say, Baldrick, I appreciate your involvement on the
        creative side.

Baldrick: If it was me, I'd own up.

Edmund: Of course you would. But, sadly, the enemy have not added to the
        German Army Entrance Form the requirement "Must have intellectual
        capacity of a boiled potato." Now, Baldrick, see that man over there?
        (looks at Smith)

Baldrick: Yeah.

        (Smith is looking at them through field glasses; he waves)

Edmund: I want you to stick to him like a limpet, and make sure he doesn't
        leave the hospital.

Baldrick: Yes, sir.

        (As Baldrick walks across to Smith's bed, Darling hobbles in, with
         help from a cane)

Edmund: Hello, Darling. What are you doing here?

Darling: Bullet in the foot.

Edmund: Well, I can understand people at the front trying to shoot themselves
        in the foot, but when you're 35 miles behind the line...

Darling: I did not shoot myself. The General did it.

Edmund: Well! Finally got fed up with you, did he?

Darling: No, it was a mistake.

Edmund: Oh, he was aiming for your head...

Darling: He wasn't aiming for anything.

Edmund: Oh, so he was going for between your legs, then.

Darling: Very funny, Blackadder. You'll be laughing on the other side of your
         face if you don't find this spy.

Edmund: Don't you worry, Darling. I intend to start interviewing suspects
        immediately.


(later, in another room in the hospital; Darling is tied to a chair, with a
potty on his head)

Darling: This is completely ridiculous, Blackadder! You can't suspect me. I've
         only just arrived.

Edmund: The first rule of counterespionage, Darling, is to suspect everyone.
        Believe me, I shall be asking myself pretty searching questions later
        on. Now, tell me: What is the colour of the Queen of England's
        favourite hat?

Darling: How the hell should I know?

Edmund: I see. Well, let me ask you another question: What is the name of the
        German Head of State?

Darling: Well, Kaiser Wilhelm, obviously.

Edmund: (stands) So you're on first-name terms with the Kaiser, are you?

Darling: (shouts) Well, what did you expect me to say?

Edmund: Darling, Darling, shh... (offers) Cigarette?

Darling: (as Edmund puts cigarette in his mouth and begins to light it)
         Thank you.

        (pause)

Edmund: (suddenly knocks the cigarette out of Darling's mouth) All right, you
        stinking piece of crap!

Darling: I beg your pardon?

Edmund: Shut your cakehole, sonny! I know you! Tell me, von Darling:
        What was it finally won you over, eh? Was it the pumpernickel, or
        was it the thought of hanging around with big men in leather shorts?

Darling: I'll have you courtmartialed for this, Blackadder!

Edmund: What, for obeying the general's orders? That may be what you do in
        Munich -- or should I say Muechen? -- but not here, Wernher! You're
        a filthy Hun spy, aren't you! (calls) Baldrick, the cocker spaniel,
        please!

Darling: Agh! No! No, no, wait! No, look, I'm engaged! I was born in Croydon;
         I was educated in (???) primary school; I've got a girlfriend called
         Doris; I know the words to all three verses of God Save the King!

Edmund: (enjoying this) Four verses...

Darling: Four verses! Four verses! I meant four verses! Look, I'm as British
         as Queen Victoria.

Edmund: So your father's German, you're half German, and you married a German?

Darling: (crying) No! No! Look, for God's sake, I'm not a German spy!!!

Edmund: Good. Thanks very much. Send in the next man, would you?

        (Mary enters)

Mary: What is all this noise about? Don't you realise this is a hospital?

Darling: (stands, still tied to the chair) You'll regret this, Blackadder.
         You'd better find the real spy or I'll make it very hard for you.

Edmund: (protesting) Please, Darling -- there are ladies present.

Darling: (?)

(Darling waddles out. Mary takes the potty off his head as he goes. Somewhere
down the hallway, a crash is heard accompanied by a scream from Darling.
Mary closes the door.)

Mary: Well, well, Captain Blackadder, this is an unexpected pleasure.

Edmund: What?

Mary: Nice to have you back with us. A spycatcher, eh? Huh! That silly
      kid George was right -- you are a bally hero.

Edmund: Wait a minute. I thought you liked George.

Mary: That's just my bedside manner. What I call my `fluffy bunny act'.

Edmund: So you're not a drip after all.

Mary: Oh, no. So, Mr Spycatcher, how's it going?

Edmund: Well, not much luck so far. I think he might be as difficult to find
        as a piece of hay in a massive stack full of needles.

Mary: So you're going to be around for quite a while, then.

Edmund: Looks like it.

Mary: Good, because, er, it can get pretty lonely round here, you know.
      God, it's nice to have someone healthy to talk to. (offers) Cigarette?

Edmund: No, thank you. I only smoke cigarettes after making love. So, back in
        England, I'm a twenty-a-day man.

Mary: (blows smoke in Edmund's face) A man should smoke. It acts as an
      expectorant and gives his voice a deep, gravely, masculine tone.

Edmund: God, I love nurses; they're so digustingly clinical!

Mary: Tell me, Captain Blackadder...

Edmund: Edmund.

Mary: Edmund. When this war is over do you think we might get to know each
      other a little better?

Edmund: Yes, why not? When this madness is finished, perhaps we could go
        cycling together, take a trip down to the Old Swan at Henley and go
        for a walk in the woods.

Mary: Yes, or we could just do it right now on the desk.

Edmund: (looks at the desk) Yeah, OK.


(in the ward; Smith hobbles in hurriedly, followed immediately by Baldrick)

George: Ah, Baldrick. Have you seen Nurse Mary? I need someone to post this
        letter.

Baldrick: She's in the office with the captain, sir.

George: Ah, poor girl -- tied to her desk, day and night...

        (Edmund enters)

George: Ah, Cap! I hear you've been seeing a lot of Nurse Mary.

Edmund: Yes -- almost all of her, in fact.

George: How is she, sir?

Edmund: Unbelievable!

George: (motions Edmund to come closer, then speaks softly) What I really want
        to know is, are you any closer to finding the spy?

Edmund: Yes, I think I'm getting there, George. (looks across, calls)
        Everything all right, Smith?

Smith: (Baldrick is in bed with him, reading a Punch magazine) Oh, ja,
       excellent, excellent.

Edmund: Jolly good. (leaves)

George: Smithy, you haven't seen any suspicious characters hanging around,
        have you, who might be German spies?

Smith: Nein.

George: (bewildered) Nine?! Well, the cap's got his work cut out, then.


(in the office, Mary and Edmund are in bed; Edmund is smoking)

Mary: Tell me, Edmund: Do you have someone special in your life?

Edmund: Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I do.

Mary: Who?

Edmund: Me.

Mary: No, I mean someone you love, cherish and want to keep safe from all the
      horror and the hurt.

Edmund: Erm... Still me, really.

Mary: No, but, back home, in England, there must be someone waiting --
      some sweetheart.

Edmund: Oh, a girl... Nah. I've always been a soldier -- married to the army.
        The book of King's Regulations is my mistress, possibly with a
        Harrod's lingerie catalogue discreetly tucked between the pages.

Mary: And no casual girlfriends...?

Edmund: Skirt? Hah! If only... When I joined up, we were still fighting
        colonial wars. If you saw someone in a skirt, you shot him and
        nicked his country. What about you? Have you got a man? Some fine
        fellow in an English country village? A vicar, maybe? Quiet, gentle,
        hung like a babboon...

Mary: There was a man I cared for a little. Wonderful chap -- strong,
      athletic...

Edmund: What happened to him?

Mary: He bought it.

Edmund: I'm so sorry; I didn't realise that was the arrangement. (stands,
        goes to desk) Erm, so what's it been? Twelve nights, let's say
        nine afternoons... How much is--? Oh, and a couple of mornings...

Mary: I mean he died.

Edmund: (apologising only for his actions -- not the death) Oh, I'm sorry.

Mary: He was test-driving one of those new tank contraptions, and the bloody
      thing blew up. What a waste. God, I hope they've scrapped the lot.

Edmund: Huh, fat chance! They're going to use forty of them next week at, oh,
        sorry, I mustn't talk about that; you never know who might be
        listening. (There is a black dot, possibly a hole, in the wall behind
        him -- possibly the location of a microphone, or maybe it's just a
        problem with the set.)

Mary: No, of course. Oh God, I miss him so much. He was such a wonderful chap.

Edmund: Clever, too, I expect.

Mary: Oh, brilliant.

Edmund: Went to one of the great universities, I suppose: Oxford; Cambridge;
        Hull...

Mary: Mmm... But why are we making small talk when we could be making big
      love?

Edmund: Good point. This could be our last chance; my three weeks are up.
        I'm going back to staff HQ tomorrow. Look, why don't you come with me?
        It could be fun. We could have supper or something.

Mary: How about something first, then supper?

Edmund: Good idea!


(in Melchett's office; Melchett enters to meet the waiting Edmund and Mary)

Melchett: Ah, hello, Blackadder...

Edmund: Good morning, sir. Er, may I introduce Nurse Fletcher-Brown. She's
        been very supportive during my work at the hospital.

Melchett: How do you do, young lady? (chuckles) Do sit down. (he moans in pain
          as he sits) So, any news of the spy, Blackadder?

Edmund: Yes, sir.

Melchett: Excellent! The Germans seem to know every move we make! I had a
          letter from Jerry yesterday. It said, "Isn't it about time you
          changed your shirts, Walrus-face?" So, do you have any ideas who
          it might be, young lady?

Mary: Well, sir, I'm only a humble nurse, but I did at one point think it
      might be Captain Darling.

Melchett: Well, bugger me with a fishfork! Old Darling, a Jerry morsetapper?
          What on Earth made you suspect him?

Mary: Well, he pooh-poohed the captain here and said that he'd never find
      the spy.

Melchett: Is this true, Blackadder? Did Captain Darling pooh-pooh you?

Edmund: Well, perhaps a little.

Melchett: Well then, damn it all, how much more evidence do you need? The
          pooh-poohing alone is a court-martial offence!

Edmund: I can assure you, sir, that the pooh-poohing was purely circumstantial.

Melchett: Well, I hope so, Blackadder. You know, if there's one thing I've
          learned from being in the army, it's never ignore a pooh-pooh.
          I knew a major: got pooh-poohed; made the mistake of ignoring the
          pooh-pooh -- he pooh-poohed it. Fatal error, because it turned out
          all along that the soldier who pooh-poohed him had been pooh-poohing
          a lot of other officers, who pooh-poohed their pooh-poohs. In the
          end, we had to disband the regiment -- morale totally destroyed ...
          by pooh-pooh!

        (Mary has begun reading an Ideas magazine. During the next line,
         she looks around nervously and puts the paper down, sitting on it)

Edmund: Yes, I think we might be drifting slightly from the point here, sir,
        which is that, unfortuantely, and to my lasting regret, Captain
        Darling is not the spy.

Melchett: Oh? And then who the hell is?

Mary: Well, sir, there is a man in the hospital with a pronounced limp and
      a very strong German accent. It must be him. It's obvious.

Edmund: Obvious, but wrong. It's not him.

Melchett: And why not?

Edmund: Because, sir, not even the Germans would be stupid enough to field a
        spy with a strong German accent.

Mary: Well then, who is it?

Edmund: Well, it's perfectly simple. It's you.

Mary: (gasps; stands) Edmund!

Edmund: (calls as he stands) Baldrick!

        (Baldrick enters, pointing a rifle at Mary)

Melchett: (stands) Explain yourself, Blackadder, before I have you shot for
          being rude to a lady!

Edmund: Well, sir, the first seeds of suspicion were sown when Lieutenant
        George unwittingly revealed that she spoke German. Do you deny, Nurse
        Fletcher-Brown -- or should I say Nurse Fleischer-Baum? -- that you
        helped Lieutenant George with the German words in his letters?

Mary: No, I did, but--

Edmund: My suspicions were confirmed when she probed me expertly about tank
        movements.

Murse: Oh, Edmund, how could you? After all we've been through.

Edmund: And then the final, irrefutable proof. Remember, you mentioned
        a clever boyfriend...

Mary: Yes.

Edmund: I then leapt on the opportunity to test you. I asked if he'd been
        to one of the great universities: Oxford, Cambridge, or Hull...

Mary: Well?

Edmund: You failed to spot that only two of those are great universities.

Mary: You swine!

Melchett: That's right -- Oxford's a complete dump!

Edmund: Well, quite. No true Englishwoman could have fallen into that trap.

Mary: Oh, Edmund, I thought there was something beautiful between us.
      I thought you ... loved me.

Edmund: Nah... Take her away, Baldrick.

Baldrick: (?? [mispronouncing something in German, perhaps])

        (Baldrick takes Mary out)

Melchett: Well, good work, Blackadder. Now I've got to assemble a firing
          squad. (while Edmund warms himself by the fire, goes to his desk,
          sits and picks up the telephone)

        (Smith, in uniform, hobbles in. Darling runs up from behind)

Darling: Watch out, sir!  (jumps on Smith, taking his revolver)

Melchett: Darling, what on Earth do you think you're doing?

Darling: I'll tell you exactly what I am doing, sir. I'm doing what Blackadder
         should have done three weeks ago, sir.

Melchett: What?

Darling: This is the guilty man!

Melchett: Darling, you're hysterical.

Darling: No, sir! No, I'm not, sir! I'll ask him outright: Are you a spy?

Smith: Yes, I am a spy!

Darling: You see, sir??

Melchett: Well, of course he's a spy, Darling -- a British spy! This is
          Brigadier Sir Bernard Proudfoot-Smith (Smith stands up straight,
          showing that he in fact doesn't limp at all), the finest spy in
          the British army!

Darling: b-But he can't be, sir; he, he doesn't even sound British.

Smith: (still sounding as German as ever) Unfortunately, I have been working
       under cover in Germany for so long that I have picked up a teensy-
       weensy bit of an accent.

Melchett: This, Darling, is the man who told us that there was a German spy in
          the hospital in the first place.

Darling: Ah.

Melchett: Right. Well, that's that, then. Blackadder...

Edmund: Yes, sir?

Melchett: You are now head of Operation Winkle.

Edmund: Thank you, sir.

Melchett: Darling...

Darling: Yes, sir?

Melchett: You are a complete arse.

Darling: Thank you, sir.

Melchett: Right, Bernard, let's go watch the firing squad. (starts out)

Smith: (??), von General! (takes his revolver from Darling; leaves)

        (George rushes in)

George: Sir, what the devil is going on? I've just seen Nurse Mary being led
        away to a firing squad!

Edmund: Nurse Mary is the spy, George.

George: What? Y-- Impossible!

Edmund: Afraid so.

George: Well, cover me with eggs and flour and bake me for fourteen minutes.
        Who'd have thought it, eh? Nurse Mary, a Boche nosepokerinner...
        Ker! Oh well, lots of exciting stuff to put into my next letter to my
        Uncle Hermann in Munich...

Edmund: Sorry?

George: Those letters I've been writing in the hospital, to my German uncle.

Darling: New information, Blackadder...?

Edmund: George...

George: Oh, yes, well, I know there's a war on, but family is family, and
        old Uncle Hermie does so love to be kept abreast of what's going on.
        I even wrote and told him about old walrus-face Melchett and his
        smelly old shirts!

Darling: Would you like me to tell this one to the general, Blackadder, or
         would you enjoy that very special moment?

        (They race out, leaving George bewildered behind)

---

Episode 6 - Goodbyeee

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

(in the trench, it's raining)

George: Care for a smoke, sir?

Edmund: No, thank you, I'm... (he lights his own pipe)

George: Private?

Baldrick: (taking cigarette from George) Oh, thank you, sir.
          (begins to eat the cigarette)

George: Oh, dash and blast all this hanging about, sir! I'm as bored as
        a pacifist pistol. When are we going to see some action?

Edmund: Well, George, I strongly suspect that your long wait for certain
        death is nearly at an end. Surely you must have noticed something
        in the air...

George: Well, yes, of course, but I thought that was Private Baldrick.

Edmund: Unless I'm very much mistaken, soon we will at last be making the
        final Big Push -- that one we've been so looking forward to all
        these years.

George: Well, hurrah with highly polished brass knobs on! About time!

        (phone rings within Baldrick's backpack, Edmund answers it)

Edmund: Hello; the Somme Public Baths -- no running, shouting, or piddling in
        the shallow end. Ah, Captain Darling. Tomorrow at dawn. Oh, excellent.
        See you later, then. Bye. (hangs up) Gentlemen, our long wait is
        nearly at an end. Tomorrow morning, General Insanity Melchett invites
        you to a mass slaughter. We're going over the top.

George: Well, huzzah and hurrah! God Save the King, Rule Britannia,
        and Boo Sucks the Hairy Hun!

Edmund: Or, to put it more precisely: you're going over the top; I'm getting
        out of here. (goes inside dugout)

George: (follows Edmund in) Oh, now, come on, Cap! It may be a bit risky
        (tries to speak in a rousing Cockney dialect, but fails miserably),
        but it sure is bloomin'ell worth it, gov'nor!

Edmund: How could it possibly be worth it? We've been sitting here since
        Christmas 1914, during which millions of men have died, and we've
        advanced no further than an asthsmatic ant with some heavy shopping.

George: Well, but this time I'm absolutely pos we'll break through! It's
        ice cream in Berlin in 15 days.

Edmund: Or ice cold in No Man's Land in 15 seconds. No, the time has come
        to get out of this madness once and for all.

George: What madness is that?

Edmund: For God's sake, George, how long have you been in the army?

George: Oh me? I joined up straight away, sir. August the 4th, 1914. Gah, what
        a day that was: myself and the rest of the fellows leapfrogging down
        to the Cambridge recruiting office and then playing tiddlywinks in the
        queue. We had hammered Oxford's tiddlywinkers only the week before,
        and there we were, off to hammer the Boche! Crashingly superb bunch of
        blokes. Fine, clean-limbed -- even their acne had a strange nobility
        about it.

Edmund: Yes, and how are all the boys now?

George: Well, er, Jacko and the Badger bought it at the first Ypres front,
        unfortunately -- quite a shock, that. I remember Bumfluff's house-
        master wrote and told me that Sticky had been out for a duck, and the
        Gubber had snitched a parcel sausage-end and gone goose-over-stump
        frogside.

Edmund: Meaning...?

George: I don't know, sir, but I read in the Times that they'd both been
        killed.

Edmund: And Bumfluff himself...?

George: Copped a packet at Galipoli with the Aussies -- so had Drippy and
        Strangely Brown. I remember we heard on the first morning of the
        Somme when Titch and Mr Floppy got gassed back to Blighty.

Edmund: Which leaves...?

George: Gosh, yes, I, I suppose I'm the only one of the Trinity Tiddlers
        still alive. (Lummy?), there's a thought -- and not a jolly one.

Edmund: My point exactly, George.

George: A chap might get a bit (mizz?) -- if it wasn't the thought of going
        over the top tomorrow! Right, sir: Permission to get weaving...

Edmund: Permission granted.

George: Thank you, sir.

Edmund: Baldrick!

Baldrick: (entering) Captain B!

Edmund: This is a crisis. A large crisis. In fact, if you've got a moment,
        it's a twelve-storey crisis with a magnificent entrance hall,
        carpetting throughout, 24-hour portrage, and an enormous sign on
        the roof, saying `This Is a Large Crisis'. A large crisis requires
        a large plan. Get me two pencils and a pair of underpants.


(Later, Edmund wears underpants on his head with two pencils up his nose)

Edmund: Right, Baldrick, this is an old trick I picked up in the Sudan. We
        tell HQ that I've gone insane, and I'll be invalided back to Blighty
        before you can say "Wooble" -- a poor gormless idiot.

Baldrick: But I'm a poor gormless idiot, sir, and I've never been invalided
          back to Blighty.

Edmund: Yes, Baldrick, but you've never said "Wooble." Now, ask me some simple
        questions.

Baldrick: Right. What is your name?

Edmund: Wooble...

Baldrick: What is two plus two?

Edmund: Oh, wooble wooble.

Baldrick: Where do you live?

Edmund: London.

Baldrick: Eh?

Edmund: A small village on Mars, just outside the capital city, Wooble.

George: (enters) All the men present and correct, sir. Ready for the off, eh?

Edmund: I'm afraid not, Lieutenant; I'm just off to Hartleypool to buy some
        exploding trousers.

George: Come again, sir -- have you gone barking mad?

Edmund: Yes, George, I have. Cluck, cluck, gibber, gibber, my old man's
        a mushroom, et cetera. Go send a runner to tell General Melchett that
        your captain has gone insane and must return to England at once.

George: But, sir, how utterly ghastly for you! I mean, well, you'll miss the
        whole rest of the war!

Edmund: Yes, very bad luck. Beep!

George: Right.

Edmund: Beep!

George: Baldrick, I'll be back as soon as I can.

Edmund: Pah-pah!

George: Whatever you do, don't excite him. (leaves)

Edmund: (removing the pencils, looks at Baldrick) Fat chance! Now, all we
        have to do is wait. Baldrick, fix us some coffee, will you? And try
        to make it taste slightly less like mud this time.

Baldrick: Not easy, I'm afraid, Captain.

Edmund: Why is this?

Baldrick: 'cause it is mud. We ran out of coffee thirteen months ago.

Edmund: So every time I've drunk your coffee since, I have in fact been
        drinking hot mud...

Baldrick: With sugar.

Edmund: Which of course makes all the difference.

Baldrick: Well, it would do if we had any sugar, but, unfortunately, we ran
          out New Year's Eve 1915, since when I've been using sugar substitute.

Edmund: Which is...?

Baldrick: Dandruff.

Edmund: Brilliant.

Baldrick: Still, I could add some milk this time -- well, saliva...

Edmund: No, no, thank you, Baldrick. Call me Mr Picky, but I think I'll
        cancel the coffee.

Baldrick: That's probably 'cause you're mad, sir!

Edmund: Well, quite!

George: (re-enters; Edmund quickly replaces the pencils) Well, it didn't go
        down well at all, I'm afraid, sir. Captain Darling said they'd be
        along directly, but, well, you'd better be damn doolally.

Edmund: Don't worry, George; I am (makes weird noises while moving his right
        arm strangely). When they get here, I'll show them what `totally and
        utterly bonkeroonie' means. Fwaf! Until then, we've got bugger-all to
        do except sit and wait.

George: Well, I don't know, sir -- we could, er, we could have a jolly game
        of charades!

Baldrick: Ooh, yes!

George: And a singalong of musical hits like "Birmingham Bertie" and "Whoops,
        Mrs Miggins, You're Sitting On My Artichokes."

Edmund: Yes, I think bugger-all might rather be more fun.


(later, the three are sitting around doing bugger-all)

Baldrick: Permission to ask a question, sir...

Edmund: Permission granted, Baldrick, as long as isn't the one about where
        babies come from.

Baldrick: No, the thing is: The way I see it, these days there's a war on,
          right? and, ages ago, there wasn't a war on, right? So, there must
          have been a moment when there not being a war on went away, right?
          and there being a war on came along. So, what I want to know is:
          How did we get from the one case of affairs to the other case of
          affairs?

Edmund: Do you mean "How did the war start?"

Baldrick: Yeah.

George: The war started because of the vile Hun and his villainous empire-
        building.

Edmund: George, the British Empire at present covers a quarter of the globe,
        while the German Empire consists of a small sausage factory in
        Tanganyika. I hardly think that we can be entirely absolved of blame
        on the imperialistic front.

George: Oh, no, sir, absolutely not. (aside, to Baldick) Mad as a bicycle!

Baldrick: I heard that it started when a bloke called Archie Duke shot an
          ostrich 'cause he was hungry.

Edmund: I think you mean it started when the Archduke of Austro-Hungary got
        shot.

Baldrick: Nah, there was definitely an ostrich involved, sir.

Edmund: Well, possibly. But the real reason for the whole thing was that it
        was too much effort *not* to have a war.

George: By (Gum? [it's not `God']) this is interesting; I always loved
        history -- The Battle of Hastings, Henry VIII and his six knives,
        all that.

Edmund: You see, Baldrick, in order to prevent war in Europe, two superblocs
        developed: us, the French and the Russians on one side, and the
        Germans and Austro-Hungary on the other. The idea was to have two
        vast opposing armies, each acting as the other's deterrent. That way
        there could never be a war.

Baldrick: But this is a sort of a war, isn't it, sir?

Edmund: Yes, that's right. You see, there was a tiny flaw in the plan.

George: What was that, sir?

Edmund: It was bollocks.

Baldrick: So the poor old ostrich died for nothing.

Darling: (from outside) 'tention!

George: (he and Baldrick stand) Right, they're here. Erm, Baldrick, you keep
        him warm; I'll go prepare the ground. (leaves)

        (outside, George salutes Melchett and Darling)

George: Sir.

Melchett: George! How's the patient?

George: Well, it's touch and go, I'm afraid, sir. I really can't vouch for his
        behaviour. He's gone mad, you see -- stir-frying crazy.

Melchett: I see. Is this genuinely mad?

George: Oh, yes, sir.

Melchett: ...or has he simply put his underpants on his head and stuffed a
          couple of pencils up his nose? That's what they all used to do in
          the Sudan. I remember I once had to shoot a whole platoon for
          trying that. Well, let's have a look at him.  (goes in, followed
          by the others)

Darling: 'tention!!!

Edmund: (stands, talks to Baldrick) ...and the other thing they used to do in
        the Sudan is to get dressed up like this and pretend to be mad. But
        don't let me catch you trying that one, Baldrick, or I'll have you
        shot, all right? Dismissed. (turns to Melchett, removes the pencils)
        Oh, hello, sir -- didn't hear you come in.

Melchett: Well now, Blackadder, they tell me you've gone mad.

Edmund: No, sir (removes the underpants), no -- must be a breakdown of
        communication. Someone obviously heard I was mad with excitement,
        waiting for the off.

Melchett: There you are, you see, Darling? I told you there'd be a perfectly
          rational explanation. Right, George, have your chaps fall in.

George: Very good, sir. (salutes, leaves)

Darling: Well, it's rather odd, sir. The message was very clear: "Captain
         Blackadder gone totally tonto. Bring straightjacket for immediate
         return to Blighty." (holds up straightjacket)

Melchett: Don't be ridiculous, Darling. The Hero of Mboto Gorge, mad? Well,
          you've only got to look at him to see he's as sane as I am! Beeaaah!
          (leaves)

Darling: Would that the Mboto Gorge where we massacred the peace-loving
         pygmies of the Upper Volta and stole all their fruit?

Edmund: No -- a totally different Mboto Gorge.

Darling: Oh.

Edmund: Cup of coffee, Darling?

Darling: Oh, thank you.

Edmund: Baldrick, do the honours.

Baldrick: (comes from kitchen) Sir. (to Darling) Sugar, sir?

Darling: Three lumps.

Edmund: Think you can manage three *lumps*, Baldrick?

Baldrick: I'll rummage around, see what I can find, sir. (turns back to
          kitchen)

Darling: Make it a milky one.

Baldrick: Coming up, sir.

        (outside; while Melchett and George speak, Baldrick can be heard
         hawking up a great deal of `milk')

Melchett: Well, George, you must have been delighted to hear the news of the
          Big Push.

George: Absolutely, sir -- our chance to show the Hun that it takes more than
        a pointy hat and bad breath to defeat the armies of King George!

Melchett: That's the spirit!

        (inside, Baldrick spits, then returns with the mug)

Baldrick: Here you are, sir.

Darling: (looks in the mug) Ah, cappucino! Have you got any of that brown
         stuff you sprinkle on the top?

Baldrick: Well, I'm sure I could m--

Edmund: No, no!

Darling: (as Melchett and George return) 'tention!

Melchett: Well, fine body of men you've got out there, Blackadder.

Edmund: Yes, sir -- shortly to become fine bodies of men.

Melchett: Nonsense -- you'll pull through. (laughs) I remember when we played
          the old Harrovians back in '96: they said we never could break
          through to their back line, but we ducked and we bobbed and we wove
          and we damn well won the game, 15-4.

Edmund: Yes, sir, but the Harrow fullback wasn't armed with a heavy machine
        gun.

Melchett: No -- that's a good point. Make a note, Darling...

Darling: Sir.

Melchett: "Recommendation for the Harrow Governors: Heavy machine guns for
          fullbacks." Bright idea, Blackadder. (speaks to Baldrick) Now then,
          soldier, are you looking forward to giving those Frenchies a damn
          good licking?

Darling: Er, no, sir -- it's the Germans we shall be licking, sir.

Melchett: Don't be revolting, Darling! I wouldn't lick a German if he was
          glazed in honey!

Darling: Sorry.

Melchett: (back to Baldrick) Now then, soldier, do you love your country?

Baldrick: Certainly do, sir.

Melchett: And do you love your king?

Baldrick: Certainly don't, sir.

Melchett: And why not?

Baldrick: My mother told me never to trust men with beards, sir.

Melchett: (laughs) Excellent native Cockney wit! (hits Baldrick in the face;
          Baldrick falls over) Well, best of luck to you all. Sorry I can't be
          with you, but obviously there's no place at the front for an old
          general with a dicky heart and a wooden bladder. By the way, George,
          if you want to accompany me back to HQ and watch the results as they
          come in, I think I can guarantee a place in the car.

George: Oh, no, thank you, sir -- I wouldn't miss this show for anything. I am
        as excited as a very excited person who's got a special reason to be
        excited, sir.

Melchett: Excellent! Well, (chuf chuf?) then. See you all in Berlin for coffee
          and cakes.

Goerge: Sir. (salutes)

        (As Melchett begins to walk out, Darling drinks then spits out
         the `coffee'.)

Melchett: What is the matter with you today, Darling? I'm so sorry,
          Blackadder. Come on, Darling, we're leaving. (he and Darling leave)

George: Righto, sir, I'm glad you're not barking anymore.

Edmund: Well, thank you, George -- although quite clearly you are. You were
        offered a way out, and you didn't take it.

George: Absolutely not, sir! I can't wait to get stuck into the Boche!

Edmund: You won't have time to get `stuck into the Boche'! We'll all be cut
        to pieces by machine gun fire before we can say "charge."

George: All right, so, what do we do now?

Baldrick: Can I do my war poem?

Edmund: How hurt would you be if I gave the honest answer, which is "No, I'd
        rather French-kiss a skunk"?

Baldrick: So would I, sir!

Edmund: All right. Fire away, Baldrick.

Baldrick: "Hear the words I sing / War's a horrid thing / So I sing sing
          sing / ding-a-ling-a-ling."

George: (applauding) Oh, bravo, yes!

Edmund: Yes. Well, it started badly, it tailed off a little in the middle,
        and the less said about the end, the better. But, apart than that,
        excellent.

Baldrick: Oh, shall I do another one, then, sir?

Edmund: No -- we wouldn't want to exhaust you.

Baldrick: No, don't worry; I could go on all night.

Edmund: Not with a bayonet through your neck, you couldn't!

Baldrick: This one is called "The German Guns."

George: Oh, spiffing! Yes, let's hear that!

Baldrick: "Boom boom boom boom / Boom boom boom / BOOM BOOM, BOOM BOOM--

Edmund: "BOOM BOOM BOOM"?

Baldrick: How did you guess, sir?

George: I say, sir! That is spooky!

Edmund: I'm sorry, I think I've got to get out of here!!!

Baldrick: Well, I have a cunning plan, sir.

Edmund: All right, Baldrick -- for old time's sake.

Baldrick: Well, you phone Field Marshal Haig, sir, and you ask him to get
          you out of here.

Edmund: (stands) Baldrick, even by your standards it's pathetic! I've only
        ever met Field Marshal Haig once, it was twenty years ago, and, my
        god, you've got it, you've got it! (he kisses Baldrick's hat)

Baldrick: Well, if I've got it, you've got it too, now, sir.

Edmund: I can't believe I've been so stupid! One phone call will do it -- one
        phone call and I'll be free. Let's see, it's 3.30 a.m.; I'll call
        about quarter to six. Excellent, excellent. Well, I'll get packing.

George: You know, I won't half miss you chaps after the war.

Baldrick: Don't worry, Lieutenant; I'll come visit you.

George: Will you really? Oh bravo! Yes, jump into the old jalopy and come down
        and stay in the country, and we can relive the old times.

Edmund: What, dig a hole in the garden, fill it with water, and get your
        gamekeeper to shoot at us all day?

George: You know, that's the thing I don't really understand about you, Cap.
        You're a professional soldier, and yet, sometimes you sound as though
        you bally well haven't enjoyed soldiering at all.

Edmund: Well, you see, George, I did like it, back in the old days when the
        prerequisite of a British campaign was that the enemy should under
        no circumstances carry guns -- even spears made us think twice. The
        kind of people we liked to fight were two feet tall and armed with
        dry grass.

George: Now, come off it, sir -- what about Mboto Gorge, for heaven's sake?

Edmund: Yes, that was a bit of a nasty one -- ten thousand Watusi warriors
        armed to the teeth with kiwi fruit and guava halves. After the battle,
        instead of taking prisoners, we simply made a huge fruit salad. No,
        when I joined up, I never imagined anything as awful as this war.
        I'd had fifteen years of military experience, perfecting the art of
        ordering a pink gin and saying "Do you do it doggy-doggy?" in
        Swahili, and then suddenly four-and-a-half million heavily armed
        Germans hoved into view. That was a shock, I can tell you.

Baldrick: (polishing boots with a dead rat) I thought it was going to be such
          fun, too -- we all did -- joining the local regiment and everything:
          The Turnip Street Workhouse Powers. It was great. I'll never forget
          it. It was the first time I ever felt really popular. Everyone was
          cheering, throwing flowers. Some girl even come up and kissed me.

Edmund: Poor woman -- first casualty of the war.

Baldrick: I loved the training; all we had to do was bayonet sacks full of
          straw. Even I could do that. I rememeber saying to my mum, "These
          sacks will be easy to outwit in a battle situation." And then,
          shortly after, we all met up, didn't we? just before Christmas,
          1914.

George: Yes, that's right. I'd just arrived and we had that wonderful
        Christmas truce. Do you remember, sir? We could hear "Silent Night"
        drifting across the still, clear air of No Man's Land. And then they
        came, the Germans, emerging out of the freezing night mist, calling
        to us, and we clambered up over the top and went to meet them.

Edmund: Both sides advanced more during one Christmas piss-up than they
        managed in the next two-and-a-half years of war.

Baldrick: Do you remember the football match?

Edmund: Remember it? How could I forget it? I was never offside! I could not
        believe that decision!

Baldrick: And since then we've been stuck here for three flipping years! We
          haven't moved! All my friends are dead: My pet spider, Sammy; Katie
          the worm; Bertie the bird -- everyone except Neville the fat
          hamster.

Edmund: (having just finished his packing; sits) I'm afraid Neville bought
        it too, Baldrick. I'm sorry.

Baldrick: Neville, gone, sir?

Edmund: Actually, not quite gone -- he's in the corner, bunging up the sink.

Baldrick: (stands) Oh no, it didn't have to happen, sir! If it wasn't for this
          terrible war, Neville would still be here today, sniffling his
          little nose and going "Eek."

Edmund: On the other hand, if he hadn't died, I wouldn't have been able to
        insert a curtain rod in his bottom and use him as a dishmop.

Baldrick: Why can't we just stop, sir? Why can't we just say, "No more killing;
          let's all go home"? Why would it be stupid just to pack it in, sir,
          why?

George: Now, now, now, look here, you just stop that (conchy?) talk right now,
        Private. It's, it's absurd, it's Bolshevism, and it wouldn't work,
        anyway.

Baldrick: Why not, sir?

George: "Why not?" Well, what do you mean? "Why wouldn't it work?" It--
        It wouldn't work, Private-- It wouldn't work because, there, well,
        now, you just get on with polishing those boots, all right? and let's
        have a little bit less of that lip! (to Edmund) I think I managed to
        crush the mutiny there, sir. Well, to think, sir: in just a few hours,
        we'll be off. Of course, not that I wouldn't miss all this, sir.
        I mean, we've had some good times; we've had damnably good laughs, eh?

Edmund: Yes -- can't think of any specific ones, myself, but...


(Melchett's office. Darling is asleep at the desk. Melchett comes in with
 a candle. He is wearing a robe, and a hairnet for his moustache.)

Melchett: Darling.

Darling: (with a start, stands) Sir!

Melchett: Oh, sit sit sit sit... Can't sleep either, eh?

Darling: Er, no, sir -- thinking about the Push, sir, hoping the Boche will
         forget to set their alarm clocks, oversleep, and still be in their
         pyjamas when our boys turn up, sir.

Melchett: Yes, yes. I've been thinking, too, Darling.

Darling: Sir?

Melchett: You know, over these last few years, I've come to think of you as
          a sort of son. Not a favourite son, of course -- lord, no! -- more
          a sort of illegitimate backstairs sort of sprog, you know: a sort
          of spotty squit that nobody really likes. But, nonetheless, still
          fruit of my overactive loins.

Darling: Thank you, sir.

Melchett: And I want to do what's best for you, Darling, so I've given it
          a great deal of thought, and I want you to have this.  (picks up
          a piece of paper from the desk and hands it to Darling)

Darling: A postal order for ten shillings...

Melchett: No, sorry -- that's my godson's wedding present. (picks up another
          piece of paper) Here.

Darling: Er, no, sir -- this is the commission for the front line, sir.
         (holds it out, to give it back)

Melchett: Yes. I've been awfully selfish, Darling, keeping you back here
          instead of letting you join in the fun and games. This will let
          you get to the front line immediately!

Darling: But, but, sir, I, I don't want to.

Melchett: ...to leave me? Heh, I appreciate that, Darling, but, damn it, I'll
          just have to enter Berlin without someone to carry my feathery hat.

Darling: (stands) No, sir, I don't want to go into battle.

Melchett: ...without me. I know. But I'm too old, Darling. I'm just going to
          have to sit this one out on the touchline with the halftime oranges
          and the fat, wheezy boys with a note from matron, while you young-
          bloods link arms and go together for the glorious final scrumdown.

Darling: No, sir... (walks around the desk to Melchett) You're, you're not
         listening, sir. I'm begging you, please -- for the sake of all the
         times I've helped you with your dicky bows and dicky bladder --
         please (falls to his knees), don't make me--

Melchett: ...make you go through the farewell debagging ceremony in the mess.
          Heh! No, I've spared you that, too, you touchingly sentimental young
          booby! Look: no fuss, no bother -- the driver is already here.

Darling: (turns, still on his knees, as the door opens; a shadow of the
         driver is cast from the bright light in the next room [extra bright
         for dramatic effect]; the driver salutes) But--

Melchett: No, no -- not a word, Kevin. I know what you want to say. I know.
          (Darling stands slowly) Goodbye, Kevin Darling. (salutes)

Darling: (frightened, salutes) Goodbye, sir.


(dawn, in the dugout)

Baldrick: (enters) It's stopped raining at last, sir, begging your pardon --
          looks like we might have a nice day for it.

George: Yes, it's nearly morning...

Edmund: (peeks outside) Good lord -- so it is. Right, time to make my call.
        (winds the telephone) Hello? Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, please.
        Yes, it's urgent...

        (Haig picks up and is looking over a model of the battlefield.)

Haig: Haig.

Edmund: Hello, Sir Douglas.

Haig: Who is this?

Edmund: Captain Blackadder, sir, erstwhile of the 1945th East African rifles.

Haig: Good lord! Blacky! (knocks down an entire line of model soldiers)

Edmund: Yes, sir.

Haig: I haven't seen you since... (knocks down the second line of model
      soldiers on the same side)

Edmund: '92, sir -- Mboto Gorge.

Haig: By jingo, yes. We sure gave those pygmies a good squashing.

Edmund: We certainly did, sir. And do you remember...?

Haig: My god, yes. You saved my damn life that day, Blacky. If it weren't for
      you, that pygmy woman with the sharpened mango could have seriously...

Edmund: Well, exactly, sir. And do you remember then that you said that if
        I was ever in real trouble and I really needed a favour that I was
        to call you and you'd do everything you could to help me?

Haig: (sweeps the fallen soldier models into a dustpan) Yes, yes, I do, and
      I stick by it. You know me -- not a man to change my mind.

Edmund: No -- we've noticed that.

Haig: So what do you want? Spit it out, man. (hurls the dead platoon over
      his shoulder)

Edmund: Well, you see, sir, it's the Big Push today, and I'm not all that
        keen to go over the top.

Haig: (sits) Oh, I see. Well...

Edmund: It was a viciously sharp slice of mango, wasn't it, sir...

Haig: (fiddles with one of the soldiers) Well, this is most irregular, but,
      erm, all right. If I do fix it for you, I never want to hear from you
      again, is that clear?

Edmund: Suits me, Douggy.

Haig: Very well. Listen carefully, Blackadder; I won't repeat this. Put your
      underpants on your head and stick two pencils up your nose. They'll
      think you're crazy and send you home. Right, favour returned. (hangs up)

Edmund: (hanging up his end) I think the phrase rhymes with `clucking bell'.

Baldrick: Does that mean you'll going over the top, now, sir?

        (phone rings, Edmund quickly picks it up)

Edmund: Field Marshal?

Melchett: (on the other end, laughs) Well, not quite, Blackadder -- at least
          not yet. No, I just wanted to let you know I've sent a little
          surprise over for you.

        (Darling enters, wearing helmet)

George: Sir! (salutes)

Edmund: (hangs up the phone, turns) Captain Darling...

Darling: Captain Blackadder.

Edmund: Here to join us for the last waltz?

Darling: (nervous) Erm, yes -- tired of folding the general's pyjamas.

George: Well, this is splendid, comradely news! Together, we'll fight for king
        and country, and be sucking sausages in Berlin by teatime.

Edmund: Yes, I hope their cafes are well stocked; everyone seems determined
        to eat out the moment they arrive.

George: No, really, this is brave, splendid and noble!  Sir?

Edmund: Yes, Lieutenant?

George: I'm scared, sir.

Baldrick: I'm scared too, sir.

George: I mean, I'm the last of the tiddlywinking leapfroggers from the Golden
        Summer of 1914. I don't want to die. I'm really not overkeen on dying
        at all, sir.

Edmund: How are you feeling, Darling?

Darling: Erm, not all that good, Blackadder -- rather hoped I'd get through the
         whole show; go back to work at Pratt & Sons; keep wicket for the
         Croydon gentlemen; marry Doris... Made a note in my diary on my way
         here. Simply says, "Bugger."

Edmund: Well, quite.

        (a voice outside gives orders)

Voice: (??)! (??)!

Edmund: Ah well, come on. Let's move.

Voice: Fix bayonets!

        (They start to go outside)

Edmund: Don't forget your stick, Lieutenant.

George: Oh no, sir -- wouldn't want to face a machine gun without this!

        (outside, they all line up as the shelling stops)

Darling: Listen! Our guns have stopped.

George: You don't think...?

Baldrick: Maybe the war's over. Maybe it's peace!

George: Well, hurrah! The big knobs have gone round the table and yanked the
        iron out of the fire!

Darling: Thank God! We lived through it! The Great War: 1914-1917.

George: Hip hip!

All but Edmund: Hurray!

Edmund: (loading his revolver) I'm afraid not. The guns have stopped because
        we're about to attack. Not even our generals are mad enough to shell
        their own men. They think it's far more sporting to let the Germans
        do it.

George: So we are, in fact, going over. This is, as they say, it.

Edmund: I'm afraid so, unless I think of something very quickly.

Voice: Company, one pace forward!

        (everyone steps forward)

Baldrick: Ooh, there's a nasty splinter on that ladder, sir! A bloke could
          hurt himself on that.

Voice: Stand ready!

        (everyone puts a foot forward)

Baldrick: I have a plan, sir.

Edmund: Really, Baldrick? A cunning and subtle one?

Baldrick: Yes, sir.

Edmund: As cunning as a fox who's just been appointed Professor of Cunning
        at Oxford University?

Baldrick: Yes, sir.

Voice: On the signal, company will advance!

Edmund: Well, I'm afraid it'll have to wait. Whatever it was, I'm sure it was
        better than my plan to get out of this by pretending to be mad.
        I mean, who would have noticed another madman round here?

        (whistle blows)

Edmund: Good luck, everyone. (blows his whistle)

        (Everyone yells as they go over the top. German guns fire before
         they're even off the ladders. The scene changes to slow motion,
         and explosions happen all around them. [An echoed piano slowly plays
         the Blackadder theme.] The smoke and flying earth begins to obscure
         vision as the view changes to the battlefield moments later: empty
         and silent with barbed wire, guns and bodies strewn across it. [A
         bass drum beats slowly.] That view in turn changes to the same field
         as it is today: overgrown with grasses and flowers, peaceful, with
         chirping birds.)

 B L A C K A D D E R
(C) BBC tv  MCMLXXXIX