Blackadder · Season 1
Oh God, why do they bother?
Well, it's to kill Jerry, isn't it, sir?
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. [looks out of the trench] SHUT UP!!! [all the noises stop, except for the gramophone player in the background] Thank you. Right, I'm off to bed where I intend to sleep until my name changes to Rip van Adder.
[on the telephone] Hello? Yes, I'd like to leave a message for the head of the Flying Corps, please. That's Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Massingbird, VC, DFC and BAR. Message reads "Where are you, you bastard?".
Here I am, sir.
For god's sake, Baldrick, take cover!
Why, sir?
Because there's an air raid going on! And I don't want to have to write to your mother at London Zoo to tell her that her only human child is dead.
[to the volunteers] All right! [shaking his rear end] Let's do-o-o-o-o-o-o it! The first thing to remember is: always treat your kite [whacks the diagram with the pointer] like you treat your woman! [whips the air, hard]
Ho-How do you mean, sir? You mean, um...you mean, take her home over the weekend to meet your mother?
No, I mean get inside her five times a day and take her to heaven and back!
I'm beginning to see why the Suffragette Movement want the vote.
Hey, any bird who wants to chain herself to my railings and suffer a jet movement gets my vote! Right, well, I'll see you in ten minutes for takeoff!
Hang on! Hang on! What about the months of training?!
Hey, Wet Pants, this isn't the Women's Auxiliary Balloon Corps! You're in the Twenty Minuters now!
Excuse me, sir?
Yes! Prat at the back!
Um, I think we'd all like to know why you're called the Twenty Minuters.
Oh, Mister Thicko. Imagine not knowing that.
Well, it's simple - the average life expectancy for a new pilot is twenty minutes!
[pleased] Ah.
[looks pointedly at George] Life expectancy of twenty minutes?
That's right! Goggles on, chocks away, last one back's a homo! HOORAY!
[The remaining volunteers cheer and follow Flashheart out the door, leaving Blackadder, George and Darling behind]
So, we take off in ten minutes, we're in the air for twenty minutes, [looks at his wristwatch] which means we should be dead by twenty-five to ten.
Hairy blighters, sir, this is a bit of a turnup for the plus fours.
I wouldn't worry too much, Blackadder. Flying's all about navigation. [walks over to the main door] As long as you've got a good navigator, I'm sure you'll be fine. [opens the door to reveal Baldrick wearing an aviator's helmet and goggles]
I spy with my bored little eye something beginning with 'T'.
Breakfast!
What?
My breakfast always begins with tea. Then I have a little sausage, and then an egg with some little soldiers.
Baldrick, when I said it begins with 'T', I was talking about a letter.
No, it never begins with a letter. The postman don't come 'til ten thirty.
The Germans seem to be able to anticipate our every move. We send up an airplane, there's a Jerry squadron parked behind the nearest cloud. We move troops to Boulogne, the Germans have bought the entire town's supply of lavatory paper. In short, a German spy is giving away every one of our battle plans.
You look surprised, Blackadder.
I certainly am, sir. I didn't realise that we had any battle plans.
Well of course we have! How else do you think the battles are directed?
Our battles are directed, sir?
Well of course they are, Blackadder, directed according to the grand plan.
Would that be the plan to continue with total slaughter until everyone's dead except for Field Marshall Haig, Lady Haig and their tortoise, Alan?
[horrified] Great Scott! 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!
So, you see, Blackadder, Field Marshal Haig is anxious to eliminate all these German spies.
Filthy Hun weasels fighting their dirty underhand war!
Fortunately, one of our spies...
Splendid fellows! Brave heroes risking life and limb for Blighty!
...has discovered that the leak is coming from the field hospital.
You think there's a German spy in the field hospital? I think you might be right.
Your job, Blackadder, is to root this spy out. How long do you think you'll need?
[checks his wristwatch] Mmm...
You'll have to be away from the trenches for some time.
Six months?
Too bad, Blackadder, you've got three weeks.
Yes, three weeks to smoke the bugger out. Use any method you see fit. Personally, I recommend you get hold of a cocker spaniel, tie your suspect to a chair with a potty on his head, then pop his todger between two floury baps and shout "Dinnertime, Fido!". If you are successful, I shall need you back here permanently to head up my new security network, Operation: Winkle.
'Winkle'?
Yes. To winkle out the spies.
You never mentioned this to me, sir!
Well, we have to have some secrets, don't we, Darling?
Right, well, I'll be back in three weeks.
Excellent! And if you come back with the information, Captain Darling will pump you thoroughly in the debriefing room.
Not while I have my strength, he won't. [takes back his pistol from Darling and leaves.]
Damnation, sir, his insolence makes my blood boil! What's 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
What, spy on our own spy as he searches for their spy? Yes, why not? Sounds rather fun. You'll have to go undercover.
Oh, definitely, sir.
And you'll need some kind of wound. A convincing wound.
Naturally, sir.
[Melchett takes out his pistol and casually shoots Darling in the foot. Darling screams in pain and falls to the floor]
Yes, that looks quite convincing.
Sir...I'm scared, sir.
I'm scared too, sir.
I'm the last of the tiddly-winking leap-froggers from the golden summer of 1914. I don't want to die...I'm really not overly keen on dying at all, sir.
How are you feeling, Darling?
Ah, not all that good, Blackadder. Rather thought I'd get through the whole show, go back to working at Pratt and Sons, keep wicket for the Croydon Gentlemen, marry Doris. Made a note in my diary on the way here. Simply says "Bugger".
Well, quite.
[Last lines of the series; Blackadder, Baldrick, George and Darling are ready to go over the top]
Listen...Our guns have stopped.
You don't think...?
[with rising hope] Maybe...the war's over. Maybe it's peace!
[overjoyed] Oh, hurrah! The big knobs have gone round the table and yanked the iron out of the fire!
[also overjoyed] Thank God! We lived through it! The Great War, 1914 to 1917!
Hip-hip...
HOORAY!
[sadly] 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.
[afraid] So we are, in fact, going over? This is, as they say, "it"?
I'm afraid so. Unless I can think of something very quickly.
Company, one pace forward!
[The group obeys]
Oh, there's a nasty splinter on that ladder, sir! A bloke could hurt himself on that!
Stand ready!
[The group holds on to the ladders]
I have...a plan, sir.
Really, Baldrick? A cunning and subtle one?
Yes, sir.
As cunning as a fox who's just been appointed Professor of Cunning at Oxford University?
Yes, sir.
On the signal, company will advance!
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? [a whistle is heard] Good luck, everyone. [blows whistle]
[They go over the top]
Baldrick!
Yes, sir?
Get me some mulled ale. I'm freezing.
How's the king, sir?
Um, about as comfortable as can be expected for a man who's spending the winter in a blackcurrant bush.
D'you think the Roundheads'll find him?
Certainly not. I've assured him he is as likely to be caught as a fox being chased by a pack of one-legged hunting tortoises.
Is that true?
Of course it's true. Have you ever known me to lie to the king?
Yes.
[Grabs Baldrick by the collar and holds a knife to his throat]
Nope.
He's absolutely safe as long as you keep your fat mouth shut.
You can trust me, sir.
[laughs mirthlessly, then puts the knife down] Right, Baldrick, I'm off to answer the call of nature. If, by any freak chance, Oliver Cromwell drops in here in the next ninety seconds, remember: the king is not hiding here.
Yes, sir. [goes back to his work and starts singing Greensleeves as Blackadder leaves and Oliver Cromwell and a Roundhead soldier come in]
Good evening, citizen. I am Oliver Cromwell. [draws his sword] My men have surrounded your house while I search for royalist scum. Is the king hiding here?
Um... [struggles to remember, then finally answers...] No.
On pain of death and damnation, are you absolutely sure?
Yes, I am.
I see. [sheathes his sword] Well then, you wouldn't mind if my men come in from the cold, will you?
Men, come in from the cold!
Now, we shall all have a cup of milk by your fireside.
Alright, but don't touch the purple cup.
Why not?
That's the king's.
So that's why he can't be here. Sorry.
I see. I...I quite understand.
[Baldrick leaves the room, then Cromwell and Blackadder (disguised as the executioner) arrive]
Sir, the moment has arrived. Are you ready to meet your maker?
Well, I'm always absolutely fascinated to meet people of all walks of life, but, yes, particularly from manufacturing industries, which is my area of expertise.
Well then, have a quick walk-and-talk with your executioner and let's get on with it! [Leaves]
[to Executioner] I'm sorry, my friend, I'm alone here today. I had hoped that my good, loyal chum, Sir Edmund Blackadder, would be here with me, but unfortunately his wife's sister's puppy fell into the strawberry patch. So, naturally, he can't be with us.
[nasally voice] Uh-huh.
All I can do is bid you do your duty well.
[nasally voice] Well, thank you, Your Majesty. And may I say how much I mourn for your lot and bid you remember others before you who have died unjustly.
Thank you. I take great solace in-
[nasally voice] Sir Thomas More, for instance. A great, generous man to the last. He apparently tipped his executioner handsomely. [Holds out his hand]
Really? I'm so sorry. I thought service was included. Um, here you are. [Hands out a single coin.]
[nasally voice] And then there was the Earl of Essex.
Was there?
[nasally voice] A truly great man. They still sing his famous ballad down the Chepstow Arms.
What ballad is that?
[nasally voice, singing] The Earl, he had a thousand sovereigns, hey nonny no! Gave them all away to the man with the axe-o!
A thousand sovereigns?
[nasally voice] Well, you can't take it with you, Your Majesty.
True. Here, do keep the change. [hands over the whole money bag]
[accidentally slipping back to his normal voice] Thank you, Your Majesty. Right, shall we go?
Just a moment! That voice has a strangely familiar ring. And so does that finger! [takes off the executioner's cowl] Blackadder!
Hello, Your Majesty!
You cunning swine!
Yes, well, uh-
Marvellous! Splendid! You've duped Cromwell and concocted a cunning plan to help me and my son escape to France!
Ah yes, that's right. Yes.
So, let's put your cunning plan into operation straight away!
Yes, let's. Uh...Well, you start the ball rolling.
No, no, after you.
Right. Yes...Ah, oh yes! Yes, right, and it's a very good plan. It's a staggering, bowel-shatteringly good plan.
[Last lines]
Well, sir, they can't say you didn't try. Now the future of the British monarchy lies fast asleep in your arms in the person of this infant prince. And with the money you've earned, you and he can escape to France.
Quite.
On the other hand, you can stay here, and as a known royalist, the Roundheads'll come and cut your head off.
Exactly, Baldrick.
[Banging on the door]
Oh my god!
Open up, or we'll burn the house down!
Oh no! We're surrounded! What'll we do?
At times like this, Baldrick, there is no choice for a man of honour. He must stand, fight and die in defense of his... future sovereign.
[More banging on the door]
Fortunately, I'm not a man of honour. [tosses the infant prince to Baldrick, then removes his hair, moustache and beard to reveal a clean-shaven face and a blond bowl head haircut just as Cromwell bursts in; to Cromwell] Thank God, you've come! [points at Baldrick] Seize the royalist scum!
[Baldrick shrugs in confusion]
These quotes come from Wikiquote's Blackadder pages and are available under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.
