04x06 - Goodbyeee

Episode transcripts for the TV show "Blackadder". Aired: 15 June 1983 – 2 November 1989.
An out-of-favor son tries to win the approval of his father, the king.
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04x06 - Goodbyeee

Post by bunniefuu »

Care for a smoke, sir?

No, thank you.

- Private?
- Thank you, sir.

Oh, dash and blast
all this hanging about, sir.

I'm as bored as a pacifist p*stol!

When are we gonna see some action?!

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.

Well, of course,

but I thought that was Private Baldrick.

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.

Well, hurrah with highly-polished
brass knobs on!

About time!

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.

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.

Well, huzzah and hurrah!

God save the King, rule Britannia,

and boo sucks to Harry Hun!

Or, to put it more precisely,
you're going over the top,

I'm getting out of here.

Oh, come on, Cap!

It may be a bit risky,

but it's sure as
bloomin' hell worth it, Gov'nor.

How can it possibly be worth it?

We've been sitting here
since Christmas, ,

during which millions of men have died,

and we've advanced no further than

an asthmatic ant with some heavy shopping.

No, but this time I'm absolutely pos'
we'll break through.

It's ice cream in Berlin in days.

Or ice-cold in No-Man's-Land in seconds.

No, the time has come
to get out of this madness

once and for all.

What madness is that?

For God's sake, George,

how long have you been
in the Army?

What, me? I joined up
straightaway, sir.

August the th, .

Ah, 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'd hammered Oxford's tiddlywinkers

only the week before, and there we were,

off to hammer the Bosche.

A crashingly superb bunch of blokes...

fine, clean-limbed...

even our acne had
a strange nobility about it.

Yes, and how are all the boys now?

Well, ah, Jocko and the Badger

bought it at the First Ypres run,

What a shock, that.

I remember Bumfluff's housemaster

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 stumps frog side.


I don't know, sir, but I read in the "Times"
that they'd both been k*lled.

And Bumfluff himself?

Copped a packet
at Gallipoli with the Aussies.

So did 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.

Which leaves?

Gosh, yes, I...

I suppose I'm the only one
of the Trinity Tiddlers still alive.

Blimey, there's a thought, and not a jolly one.

My point exactly, George.

A chap might get a bit mis'

if it wasn't for the thought of
going over the top tomorrow!

Right, sir. Permission to get weaving.

- Permission granted.
- Thank you, sir.

- Baldrick!
- Captain B.

This is a crisis... a large crisis.

In fact, if you've got a moment,

it's a -story crisis with
a magnificent entrance hall,

carpeting throughout, -hour porterage,

and an enormous sign on the roof

saying, "This is a large crisis".

And a large crisis requires a large plan.

Get me two pencils
and a pair of underpants.

Right, Baldrick.

This is an old trick I picked up in the Sudan.

We tell HQ that I've gone insane,

and I will be invalided back to Blighty

before you can say "wibble"...

a poor, gormless idiot.

Well, I'm a poor, gormless idiot, sir,

and I've never been invalided back to Blighty.

Yes, Baldrick,

but you never said "wibble."

Now, ask me some simple questions.

All right.

What is your name?


What is two plus two?

Wibble, wibble.

Where do you live?

- London.
- Eh?

A small village on Mars,

just outside the capital city...


All the men present and correct, sir.

Ready for the off, eh!

I'm afraid not, Lieutenant.

I'm just off to Hartlepool
to buy some exploding trousers.

Come again, sir?

Have you gone barking mad?

Yes, George, I have.

Cluck-cluck, gibber-gibber,

my old man's a mushroom, etcetera.

Go send a runner to tell General Melchett

that your Captain has gone insane

and must return to England at once.

But, sir, how utterly ghastly for you!

I mean, you'll miss
the whole rest of the w*r!

Yes, very bad luck. Beep!



Now Baldrick, I'll be back as soon as I can.


Whatever you do, don't excite him.

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.

Not easy, I'm afraid, Captain.

- Why is this?
- 'Cause it "is" mud.

We ran out of coffee months ago.

So every time I've drunk your coffee since,

I have in fact been drinking hot mud.

With sugar.

Which of course makes all the difference.

Well, it would do if we had any sugar,

but unfortunately,
we ran out New Year's Eve, ,

since when I've been using sugar substitute.

Which is?



Still, I could add some milk this time.

Well, saliva.


No thank you, Baldrick.

Call me "Mr. Picky", but I think I'll cancel.

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

Well, quite.

Well, it didn't go down
at all well, I'm afraid, sir.

Captain Darling said
they'd be along directly,

But, well, you'd better be
pretty damn doolally.

Don't worry, George, I am... okay, okay.

When they get here I'll show them

what totally and utterly bonkerooni means.

Till then, there's bugger-all to do

except sit and wait.

Oh, I don't know, sir.

We could have a jolly game of charades.

Ooh, yes!

And sing along with musical hits,

like "Birmingham Bertie",

and "Whoops, Mrs. Miggins,
You're Sitting On My Artichokes."

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

Permission to ask a question, sir.

Permission granted, Baldrick,

as long as it isn't the one
about where babies come from.

No. The thing is, the way I see it,

these days there's a w*r on, right?

And ages ago, there wasn't a w*r on, right?

So there must have been a moment

when there-not-being-a-w*r-on went away,

and there-being-a-w*r-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?

Do you mean, how did the w*r start?


The w*r started because of the vile Hun

and his villainous empire-building.

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 we can
entirely be absolved from blame

on the imperialistic front.

Oh, no... no sir, absolutely not.

Mad as a bicycle.

I heard that it started
when a bloke called Archie Duke

sh*t an ostrich because he was hungry.

I think you mean it started

when the Archduke
of Austro-Hungary got sh*t.

No, there was definitely
an ostrich involved, sir.

Well, possibly.

But the real reason for the whole thing

was that it was just too much effort

not to have a w*r.

By gum, this is interesting!
I always loved history...

the Battle of Hastings,

Henry Vlll and his six knives, all that.

You see, Baldrick,
in order to prevent w*r in Europe,

two super-blocs 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 w*r.

But this is a sort of a w*r, isn't it?

Yes, that's right.

There was a tiny flaw in the plan.

What was that, sir?

It was bollocks.

So the poor old ostrich died for nothing.

Heads up!

Right, they're here.

Baldrick, you keep him warm.

I'll go and prepare the ground.


George. How's the patient?

It's touch and go, I'm afraid, sir.

I really can't vouch for his behavior...

He's gone mad, you see,

stir-fry crazy.

I see. Is this genuinely mad?

Oh, yes, sir.

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
sh**t a whole platoon for trying that.

Well, let's have a look at him.


And the other thing they used to do
in the Sudan

was to get dressed up like this
and pretend to be mad.

So, don't let me catch you
trying that one, Baldrick,

or I'll have you sh*t,
all right? Dismissed.

Well, hello, sir. Didn't hear you come in.

Now then, Blackadder...
they tell me you've gone mad.

No, sir.

No, no, must be a breakdown of

Someone obviously heard
I was mad with excitement

waiting for the off.

You see, Darling, I told you there'd be a
perfectly rational explanation.

Right, George, have your chaps fall in.

Well, it's rather odd, sir,
the message was very clear.

Captain Blackadder gone totally tonto.

Bring straitjacket
for immediate return to Blighty.

Don't be ridiculous, Darling...

The hero of Mboto Gorge, mad?

You've only got to look at him
to see he's as sane as I am.


Would that be the Mboto Gorge

where we massacred
the peace-loving pygmies

of the Upper Volta
and stole all their fruit?

No, a totally different Mboto Gorge.


Cup of coffee, Darling?

Oh. Thank you.

Baldrick, do the honours.

Sugar, sir?

Three lumps.

Think you can manage three lumps,

I'll rummage 'round, see what I can find, sir.

Make it a milky one.

Coming up, sir!

Well, George, you must have been

delighted to hear the news of the big push.

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.

That's the spirit!

Here you are, sir.

Ah, cappuccino.

Have you got any of that...

any of that brown stuff
you sprinkle on the top?

Well, I'm sure I could...

No. No.


Ah, oh.

Fine body of men

you've got out there, Blackadder.

Yes sir, shortly to become
fine bodies of men.

Ah, nonsense... you'll pull through!

I remember when we played
the Old Harrowians back in ' ,

they said we'd never
break through to their back line,

but we ducked and we bobbed and we wove

and we damn well won the game - .

Yes sir, but the Harrow fullback

wasn't armed with a heavy machine g*n.

Good point... make a note, Darling.

Recommendation for the Harrow governors:

heavy machine g*n for fullbacks.

Nice idea, Blackadder.

Now then, soldier,

you looking forward to giving
those Frenchies

a damn good licking?

Uh, no sir... it's the Germans
we shall be licking.

Don't be revolting, Darling!

I wouldn't lick a German
if he was glazed in honey!

Now then, soldier,
do you love your country?

Certainly do, sir!

And do you love your King?

Certainly don't, sir!

And why not?

My mother told me

never to trust men with beards, sir.

Ha ha ha ha!

Excellent native Cockney wit!


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.

No, thank you, sir.

I wouldn't miss this show for anything.

I'm as excited as a very excited person

who's got a special reason
to be excited, sir.

Excellent! Well, chuff chuff, then.

See you all in Berlin for coffee and cakes.



What is the matter with you today, Darling?!

I'm so sorry, Blackadder.
Come on, Darling, we're leaving.

By Jove, sir... I'm glad
you're not barking anymore.

Thank you, George.

Although quite clearly, you are.

You were offered a way out,
and you didn't take it.

Absolutely not, sir.

I can't wait to get stuck in to the Bosche.

You won't have time to get
"stuck in to the Bosche".

We'll all be cut to pieces
by machine-g*n f*re

before we can say "charge."

Right. So what do we do now?

Shall I do my w*r poem?

How hurt would you be
if I gave the honest answer,

which is, "No, I'd rather
French-kiss a skunk".

So would I, sir!

All right. f*re away, Baldrick.

Hear the words I sing,

w*r's a horrid thing.

So I sing, sing, sing,


Bravo! Yes!

Well, it started badly,

and it tailed off a little in the middle,

and the less said about the end the better,

but apart from that... excellent.

Shall I do another one then, sir?

No, we wouldn't want to exhaust you.

Don't worry. I could go on all night.

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

This one is called "The German g*n".

Oh, spiffing! Yes, let's hear that.

Boom boom boom boom!

Boom boom boom.

Boom boom boom boom!

Boom boom boom?

How did you guess, sir?

I say, sir, that is spooky!

I think I've got to get out of here!

Well, I have a cunning plan, sir.

All right, Baldrick. For old time's sake.

Well, you phone Field Marshal Haig,

and you ask him to get you out of here.

Baldrick, even by your standards,

it's pathetic.

I've only ever met Haig once.

It was years ago, and...
my God, you've got it!

You've got it!!!

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

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 : am,

I'll call about quarter to six.

Excellent, excellent. I'll get packing.

You know,

I won't half miss you chaps after the w*r.

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

Will you really? Oh, bravo! Yes!

Jump into the old jalopy

and come down and stay in the country.

We can re-live the old times.

What, dig a hole in the garden,

fill it with water,

and get your gamekeeper
to sh**t at us all day?

That's the thing I don't
really understand about you.

I mean, you're a professional soldier,

and yet sometimes you sound as if

you bloody well haven't
enjoyed soldiering at all!

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 g*n.

Even spears made us think twice.

The kind of people we liked to fight

were two feet tall and armed with dry grass.

Now, come off it, sir.

What about Mboto Gorge, for heavens' sake!

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 w*r.

I'd had 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

hove into view.

It was a shock, I can tell you.

I thought it was
going to be such fun, too.

We all did...

joining the local regiment and everything.

Turnip Street Workhouse pals...

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.

Poor woman... first casualty of the w*r.

And I loved the training.

All we had to do was bayonet sacks
full of straw.

Even I could do that.

I remember 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, .

Yes, that's right.

I had just arrived,

and we had that wonderful Christmas truce.

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.

Both sides advanced more
during one Christmas piss-up

than they managed
in the next / years of w*r.

Do you remember the football match?

How could I forget it?
I was never offside.

I could not believe that decision!

And since then,

we've been stuck here
for three flippin' years.

We haven't moved!

All me friends are d*ad...

my pet spider Sammy,

Katie the worm,

Bertie the bird,

everyone except Neville the fat hamster.

I'm afraid Neville bought it too.

I'm sorry.

Neville gone, sir?

Not quite gone.

He's in the corner, bunging up the sink.

Oh, no!

It didn't have to happen, sir!

If it wasn't for this terrible w*r,

Neville would still be here today,

sniffling his little nose and going "Eek!"

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 dish mop.

Why can't we just stop, sir?

Why can't we just say,

"No more k*lling, let's all go home."

Why would it be stupid
just to pack it in, sir, why!

Now, look here...

you just stop that conchie talk
right now, Private.

It's absurd, it's Bolshevism,
and it wouldn't work, anyway.

Why not, sir?

Why not?

W-w-w-well, you mean,
why wouldn't it work?

It wouldn't work because... they're...

Now you just get on
with polishing those boots,

and let's have a bit less of that lip.

I think I managed to crush the mutiny, sir.

Just think, in a few hours, we'll be off.

Of course, not that I won't miss all this,

but, ah, we've had some good times,

we've had some
damnably good laughs, eh?

Yes. Can't think
of any specific ones, myself, but...



No, no, sit, sit.

Can't sleep either, eh?

Uh, no, sir.

Thinking about the push, sir.

Maybe the Bosche will forget
to set their alarm clocks,

still be in their pajamas
when our boys turn up.

Yes, yes.

I've been thinking too, Darling.


You know, over these last few years,

I've come to think of you as a sort of son.

Not a favorite son, of course.

Lord, no,

more a sort of illegitimate
backstairs sprog, you know...

a sort of spotty squit
that nobody really likes,

but, nonetheless, still
fruit of my overactive loins.

Thank you, sir.

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.

A postal order for shillings.

No, sorry.

That's my godson's wedding present.

Ah! Here.

Uh, no sir, this is a commission
for the front lines, sir.


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


B-b-b-but sir,
I-I don't want to.

To leave me? I appreciate that, Darling,

but, damn it, I'll just have to enter Berlin

without someone to carry my feathery hat.

No, sir... I don't want to go into battle.

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 half-time oranges
and the fat wheezy boys

with a note from matron

while you young bloods
link arms and go together

for the glorious final scrum-down!

No, sir!

You're... you're not listening, sir.

I'm begging you.


for the sake of all the times

I've helped you with your dickie bows

and your dickie bladder...

Please, don't make me...

Make you go through

the farewell debagging ceremony
in the mess?

No, I've spared you that, too,

you touchingly sentimental young boobie.

No fuss, no bother.

The driver is already here.


No, no, not a word, Kevin,

I know what you want to say, I know.

Goodbye, Kevin Darling.

Goodbye, sir.

It stopped raining at last, sir.

Looks like we might have a nice day for it.

Yes, it's nearly morning.

So it is, right.

Time to make my call.

Hello. Field Marshal
Sir Douglas Haig, please.

Yes, it's urgent.

- Haig.
- Hello, Sir Douglas.

Who is this?

Captain Blackadder, sir.

Erstwhile of the / th East African r*fles.

Good Lord! Blackie!

Yes, sir.

- Haven't seen you since...
- ' , sir. Mboto Gorge.

By jingo, yes.

We sure gave those pygmies
a good squashing.

We certainly did, sir.

And do you remember...

My God, yes.

You saved my damn life that day, Blackie.

If it weren't for you, that pygmy woman

with the sharpened mango
could have seriously...

And do you remember then

that you said that if I was ever
in real trouble,

if I ever really needed a favor,

you'd do anything you could to help me?

Yes, yes, I do, and I stick by it.

You know me,
not a man to change my mind.

No, we've noticed that.

So what do you want? Spit it out, man.

- You see, sir,

it's the big push today,

and I'm not all that keen to go over the top.

Oh, I see.


It was a viciously sharp
slice of mango, wasn't it, sir?

Well, this is most irregular,
but, um...

All right, if I do fix it for you,

I never want to hear from you again,
is that clear?

Suits me, Dougie.

Very well. Listen well, 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.

I think the phrase rhymes
with "clucking bell".

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

Field Marshal?

Ha ha!

Well, not quite, Blackadder.

At least not yet.

No, I just wanted to let you know

that I've sent a little surprise over for you.


- Captain Darling.
- Captain Blackadder.

Here to join us for the last waltz?

Um, yes.

Tired of... folding the General's pyjamas.

Well, this is splendid comradely news!

Together we'll fight for king and country

and be sucking sausages
in Berlin by tea time!

Yes, I hope their cafes are well-stocked.

Everyone seems determined to eat out

the moment they arrive.

Really, this is brave, splendid and noble!

- Sir?
- Yes, Lieutenant?

I'm... scared, sir.

I'm scared too, sir.

I mean, I'm the last of
the tiddlywinking leapfroggers

from the golden summer of .
I don't want to die.

I'm really not overkeen on dying at all, sir.

How are you feeling, Darling?

Um, 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 Croyden gentlemen,

marry Doris.

Made a note in my diary on the way here.

It simply says ..."Bugger".

Well, quite.

Let's move.

Fix bayonets!

Don't forget your stick, Lieutenant.

Rather, sir.

Wouldn't want to face
a machine g*n without this.

Listen... our g*n have stopped.

- You don't think...

Maybe the w*r is over.
Maybe it's peace!

Well, hurrah!

The big nobs have got 'round the table

and yanked the iron out of the f*re!

Thank God! We lived through it!

The Great w*r... to .

Hip hip...


I'm afraid not.

The g*n have stopped
because we're about to att*ck.

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.

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!

There's a nasty splinter on that ladder, sir,

a bloke could hurt himself on that.

Stand ready!

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.

At 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 around here?

Good luck, everyone.

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