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 BA:ck.
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
BA:r. Message reads "Where are you, you BA:stard?"
[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.
[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
[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 Flashheart:’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
[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 Flashheart: jumps down from his crashed plane.]
Flashheart: Ha! Eat knuckle, Fritz!
[Flashheart: knocks BA: to the ground with his pistol, then puts a foot on
Flashheart: Aha! How disgusting. A Boche on the sole of my boot.
I shall have to find a patch of grass to wipe it on.
ProBA:bly 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: Do you think we could dispense with the hilarious doggy-do
metaphor for a moment? I’m not a Boche. This is a British
[Flashheart: puts his pistol away.]
Flashheart: Is it? Oh, that’s a piece of luck. Thought I’d landed
[Flashheart: picks up the receiver of a field-telephone lying by the dugout
Flashheart: 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!
[Flashheart: kicks the phone into action.]
Flashheart: Hi, Flashheart: 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,
BA: Look, do you think you could make your obscene phone call
[Flashheart: is still on the phone and ignores BA:.]
Flashheart: No, not in half an hour, you rubber-desk johnny. Send the
bitch with the wheels right now or I’ll fly BA:ck to
England and give your wife something to hang her towels on.
[Flashheart: throws down the receiver.]
Flashheart: 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 Flashheart: 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.
Flashheart: Yeah, like hell. Huh, huh. You’ve proBA:bly got little
piccies of me on the walls of your dugout, haven’t you?
[Flashheart: tickles the front of BA:’s trousers.]
Flashheart: I bet you go all girly and giggly every time you look at
[Flashheart: 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 Flashheart: and the man who cleans out
the public toilets in Aberdeen, and they’d go for Wee Jock
"Poo-Pong" McPlop, every time.
[Flashheart: laughs, then belts BA:, knocking him to the floor.]
[Flashheart: 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 . . .
[Flashheart: enters, saluting. George: sees him. BA: enters behind Flashheart:.]
George: My God!
Flashheart: Yes, I suppose I am.
George: Lord Flashheart:, this is the greatest honour of my life.
I hope I snuff it right now to preserve this moment
BA: It can be arranged.
Baldrick: Lord Flashheart:, I want to learn to write so I can send a
letter home about this golden moment.
Flashheart: So all the fellows hate me, eh? Not a bit of it. I’m
your bloody hero, eh, old scout?
[Flashheart: playfully scuffs up Baldrick:’s hair, then notices that this
action has left something unpleasant on his glove.]
[Flashheart: 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.
Flashheart: Of course she did, of course she did, the poor love-crazed
[Flashheart: moves to hug and kiss Baldrick:, then thinks better of it.]
Flashheart: 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
[Flashheart: takes the mickey out of BA:’s holier-than-thou attitude.]
Flashheart: All right, you chaps, let’s get comfy.
[Flashheart: sits down in chair. George: sits down on BA:’s cot. Flashheart:
turns to Baldrick:.]
Flashheart: 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 Flashheart:.]
Flashheart: Of course it would! Ha!
[Flashheart: rests his feet on Baldrick:’s BA:ck and sighs.]
Flashheart: Have you any idea what it’s like to have the wind
rushing through your hair?
George: No, Sir.
[Flashheart: breaks wind in Baldrick:’s face.]
Flashheart: He has!
Scene 6: BA:’s Dugout
[Some time has elapsed. Flashheart: is regaling an enthralled George: with
stories. BA: is reading a copy of `King and Country’ at the table,
uninterested in what Flashheart: has to say.]
Flashheart: . . . 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 . . .
Flashheart: 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.
Flashheart: Well, that’s how I like my girls–direct and to my point.
[Flashheart: removes his feet from Baldrick:, grabs Bobby and puts her across
his lap and begins to snog her. During the snog BA: sarcastically checks
Flashheart: Ah! Tally ho, then! BA:ck to the BA:r. 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.
[Flashheart: gestures at Baldrick:.]
Flashheart: 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 . . .
Flashheart: We’re always looking for talented types to join the
BA: . . . and there goes George:.
[Flashheart: rises from the chair, lifting Bobby in his arms.]
Flashheart: Tally ho, then, Bobby. Hush, here comes a whizz-BA:ng and I
think you know what I’m talking about! Woof!
[Flashheart: 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
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
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.]
[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 BA:ck 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,
[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
[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: Thank you, George:. At ease, everyone. Now, where’s my
map? Come on.
[Darling: hands Melchett: his map.]
Melchett: Thank you.
[Melchett: unfurls the map the wrong way.]
Melchett: God, it’s a BA:rren, 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 BA:ttle-dodging,
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 BA:ck here 09:00 hours for your BA:sic 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 BA:ck.]
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 BA:ron, a bit of a jolly old crash
landing behind enemy lines, capture, torture, escape and
then BA:ck 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
[Flashheart: is heard in the corridor.]
Flashheart: Hey, girls! Look at my machinery!
[The sound of screaming women is heard from the corridor. Flashheart: enters
Darling:’s office, zipping up his flys. He is carrying a stick. All present
rise to attention.]
Flashheart: Enter a man who has no underwear. Ask me why.
All except BA: Why do you have no underwear, Lord Flash?
Flashheart: Because the pants haven’t been built yet that’ll take the
[Flashheart: performs a groinal thrust.]
Flashheart: And that’s the type of guy who’s doing the training around
here. Sit down!
[All sit. Flashheart: notices BA:.]
Flashheart: Well, well, well, well, well. If it isn’t old Captain
Flashheart: 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 . . .
[Flashheart: taps the picture of the Sopwith Camel with his stick.]
Flashheart: . . . like you treat your woman!
[Flashheart: 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?
Flashheart: No, I mean get inside her five times a day and take her to
heaven and BA:ck.
BA: I’m beginning to see why the Suffragette Movement want the
Flashheart: 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.
[Flashheart: begins to leave.]
BA: Hang on, hang on! What about the months of training?
Flashheart: Hey, wet-pants! This isn’t the Womens Auxiliary BA:lloon
Corps. You’re in the Twenty Minuters now.
[Darling: stands up.]
Darling: Er, Sir . . .
Flashheart: Yes . . .
Darling: . . . Sir!
Flashheart: . . . Prat at the BA:ck!
Darling: I think we’d all be intrigued to know why you’re called the
George: Oh, Mister Thicko. Imagine not knowing that.
Flashheart: Well, it’s simple! The average life expectancy for a new
pilot is twenty minutes.
Darling: Ah . . .
BA: Life expectancy . . . of twenty minutes . . .
Flashheart: That’s right. Goggles on, chocks away, last one BA:ck’s a
[Flashheart: runs out of the room.]
Trainee Pilots Hurray!
[Trainee Pilots run after Flashheart:.]
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
[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
George: Tally-BA:lly ho!
Baldrick: What’s this?
[BAldrick climbs out of his seat.]
BA: Baldrick:! Baldrick:! Will you stop arsing about and get BA:ck
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
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:.
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 BA:d.
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 BA:lly 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?
Melchett: That’s right. Flossy. Do you remember what happened to
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
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.
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 BA:ron 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
BA:sis 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, BA:lders. Dress it up in any amount of pompous
verBA:l diarrhoea, and the message is `Squareheads down for
the big Boche gang-BA:ng’.
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 BA:ck 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
BA: Er . . .
von Richthoven For you, as a man of honour, the humiliation will be
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
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 Flashheart: still
BA: I think you’ll find he’s overrated. BA:d 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-BA:ngs, BA:rbed 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-
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.
[Flashheart: smashes through the cell door, swinging on a rope. As he lands,
he trumpets his own arrival.]
Flashheart: It’s me. Hurray!
George: and Baldrick:
[Flashheart: smashes Baldrick: in the face. Baldrick: falls to the floor.]
Flashheart: 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 BA:skervilles, I’d proBA:bly
have let them stew in their own juice.
Flashheart: And let me tell you, if I ever tried that, I’d proBA:bly
[BAldrick laughs. Flashheart: laughs and smacks Baldrick: in the face.
Baldrick: wings floor-ward again.]
Flashheart: Still, since I’m here, I may as well do-oo it, as the
Bishop said to the netBA:ll team. Come on, chums!
[Flashheart: runs out of the cell, followed by George: and Baldrick:. BA: sits
down and begins to moan, faking an injury.]
BA: Aah! Ow! Aah!
[Flashheart: runs BA:ck into the cell, followed by George: and Baldrick:.]
Flashheart: 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!
Flashheart: 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.
Flashheart: I think I’m beginning to understand.
BA: Are . . . are you?
Flashheart: 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, Flashheart?
[Flashheart: whips out his pistol and threatens BA]
Flashheart: 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!
[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 BA:d luck!
[von Richthoven enters the cell.]
von Richthoven Ah, and the Lord Flashheart:. 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.
[Flashheart: shoots von Richthoven.]
Flashheart: 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 BA:ckwards towards his desk as BA: enters.]
Darling: Good Lord. Captain Blackadder. I thought, I thought you
were . . .
BA: Playing tennis?
Darling: Well, yes, unfortunately.
BA: Well, I had a lucky escape. No thanks to you. This is a friend of mine.
[Flashheart: is standing on Darling:’s desk. Darling: turns around and finds himself staring at Flashheart:’s crotch.]
Flashheart: Hi, creep.
BA: Flashheart:, this is Captain Darling:.
Flashheart: Captain Darling:? Funny name for a guy, isn’t it?
[Flashheart: jumps down from the desk.]
Flashheart: 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.
Flashheart: Well, this isn’t a reasonable use of my time and resources, but I’m going to do it anyway.
[Flashheart head-butts Darling:. Darling: groans and falls Backwards across his desk.]
Flashheart: All right, Slacky! All right, Slacky! I’ve got to fly. Two million chicks, only one Flashheart. And remember, if you want something, take it. Bobby!
[Bobby enters the office and salutes.]
Bobby My Lord!
Flashheart: I want something!
Bobby: Take it!
[Bobby starts to unbutton her top as she leaves the office, followed by Flashheart:.]
[General Melchett: enters from his office.]
Melchett: Ah, Blackadder. So you escaped.
BA: Yes, Sir.
[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.
BA: Can I have a week’s leave to recuperate, Sir?
Melchett: Certainly not!
BA: Thank you, Sir.
(c) BBC tv MCMLXXXIX