Funny Ha, Ha

by Paul Merton

  TONY. Fifty cents, seven and twopence a dollar, that’s three and seven… Yes, that’s right, half a dollar, an Oxford scholar.

  BILL. [Terribly-terribly] How would you like me to pose, old American bean?

  HOVIS. Hey, what’s this, ain’t you got a monocle?

  TONY. Oh, they don’t all wear monocles, you know, oh dear me no, only the ones with duff eyes.

  HOVIS. Oh well, I guess that’ll be alright. Well, hold it your Lordship… That’s fine, thank you very much.

  BILL. Don’t menchers, old sport. A pleasures, yes indeeders.

  TONY. [Calls] In you go everybody for the farmhouse tea…

  Effects. Small crowd.

  TONY. … everybody back on the coach in fifteen minutes. Well, how do you think it’s going?

  BILL. They seem to be enjoying it.

  TONY. I can’t think why. The load of old rubbish we’ve shown them. It’s a bit of a liberty, you know, three pounds ten each.

  BILL. We’ve got to get our money back somehow.

  TONY. That’s true. Needs must I suppose. Come on, let’s nip in the Hand and Racquet. I can’t stand that horrible tea she serves up.

  MAN. Excuse me.

  TONY. Oh, in Nan’s Pantry with the rest, if you hurry you’ll just be in time for a cup of varnish and a jam lardy.

  MAN. I’m not on the tour, I’m from the London Transport Executive.

  TONY. Oh I see, the rival mob, eh?

  MAN. Is this your coach?

  TONY. That is so, I’m the owner.

  MAN. That’s all we wanted to know. Constable, arrest these two men.

  TONY. I beg your pardon, on what charge?

  MAN. On a charge of stealing this vehicle from the London Transport Permanent Museum. We’ve been looking for this one for weeks.

  TONY. This can be explained, I assure you.

  MAN. I sincerely hope for your sake that it can. Take them away, Constable.

  TONY. I protest… You see, when I say I’m the owner of the coach, that’s not exactly true, it’s owned by a company you see and…

  BILL. Yeah, but you’re the Managing Director of the company, aren’t you?

  TONY. Why don’t you shut up?

  MAN. I think that settles it, come along now, sir…

  TONY. Oh, what can you do?

  Grams. Music link.

  SIDNEY. … and over on the left you’ll be interested to see the oldest municipal jail in these parts. Working in the fields you can see the first offenders, not dangerous, but nevertheless put out of the reach of the temptations of crime, and doing a service towards the economy of their country by heaving spuds.

  HOVIS. Hey, Hortense, that fellow with the shovel, isn’t he the guide from that last tour we made?

  HORTENSE. Yeah, and that’s the English Me Lord next to him. Take a shot of them, Hovis.

  TONY. [Off mike – calls] Do you mind. Get your telephone lens off my person. Uncouth heathens. Go on, mind your own business. Go on home before I throw a spud at you. And as for you James, you wait till I get out. You’d better take the longest tour you’ve got, I’ll have you, you wait. Bill, throw a cauliflower at him.

  HORTENSE. Oh gee, what a nasty man.

  SIDNEY. Yeah, well you get criminals in all countries, don’t you. Continuing the eight pounds twelve and sixpenny tour, we see on the right the outskirts of Sherwood Forest where Robin Hood did sport with Maid Marian in days of yore… and on the left is the very spot where Abraham Lincoln’s grandfather was born, over here we have the…

  Grams. Closing sig starts on the word “Grandfather.” Down for:

  ANNOUNCER. That was “Hancock’s Half Hour” starring Tony Hancock, with Sidney James, Bill Kerr, Warren Mitchell, Mavis Villers and Errol McKinnon. Theme and incidental music composed and conducted by Wally Stott. Alan Simpson and Ray Galton wrote the script and the programme, which was recorded, was produced by Tom Ronald.

  Grams. Up and out… playout.

  STORY TIME

  Joyce Grenfell

  Joyce Grenfell (1910–1979) was the daughter of the youngest of the Langhorne sisters, of whom the most celebrated was Nancy, Lady Astor. She spent her girlhood on the fringes of the famous Cliveden set, which included George Bernard Shaw and Noël Coward, but it wasn’t until a dinner party in 1938 that her genius for dramatic monologue was discovered when she gave an impromptu imitation of a Women’s Institute speaker. She was an accomplished actress and starred in many films, including the St Trinian’s series. She was also a regular on television, radio and the stage, and entertained the troops during the war with her usual wit, charm and humour.

  Children… pay attention, please. Free time is over, so put away your things and we are going to tell our nice story, so come over here and make a circle on the floor all around me, and we’ll tell the story together. We’ve got a visitor today, so we can tell our story to her.

  Will you be all right there, Mrs Binton? I think you’ll get a good view of the proceedings.

  Hurry up everybody. Don’t push – there’s lots of room for us all.

  This group story-telling is quite a feature of our work here in the Nursery School, Mrs Binton. We like to feel that each little individual has a contribution to make to the world of make-believe, and of course many valuable lessons can be learned from team work. We’re a happy band of brothers here!

  Edgar, let go of Timmy’s ear and settle down.

  Come along, everybody.

  Sidney, come out from under the table and join in the fun.

  No, you’re not in a space rocket.

  You can’t wait for the count-down, you come out now.

  Don’t you want to help us tell our nice story, Sidney?

  Then say, ‘No, thank you.’ And stop machine-gunning everybody, please.

  And Neville, stop being a train and sit down.

  All right then, get into the station and then sit down.

  George…

  No…

  Let’s have some nice straight backs, shall we? What shall we tell our story about today?

  Rachel, take your shoe off your head and put it on your foot.

  Shall we tell it about a little mouse?

  Or a big red bus?

  About a dear little bunny rabbit! All right, Peggy, we’ll tell it about a dear little bunny rabbit.

  No, Sidney, he wasn’t a cowboy bunny rabbit, and he didn’t have a gun.

  Why don’t you come out from under the table and help us tell our nice story?

  All right, stay where you are, but you must stop machine-gunning everybody. I don’t want to have to tell you again.

  One of our individualists! He does have little personality problems, of aggression, but we feel that when his energies are canalised in the right direction he is going to be a quite worthwhile person. That’s what we hope…

  Where did our bunny rabbit live?

  No, he didn’t live in a TV set.

  No, not in a tree.

  No, not in a flat.

  Think please.

  He lived in a HOLE.

  Yes, Hazel, of course he did.

  Only some of us call it a burrow, don’t we?

  He lived in a burrow with – who? His mummy bunny rabbit… and his?… Daddy bunny rabbit… and all his?… dear little sister and brother bunny rabbits. Wasn’t that nice.

  Yes, it was, Sidney.

  No, Sidney, he wasn’t a burglar bunny rabbit. Nor was his daddy. He was just an ordinary businessman bunny rabbit.

  David, don’t wander away like that.

  Yes, I know the window is over there, but you don’t want to look out of it now. Our story is getting much too exciting. Come and sit down by Neville.

  Neville, don’t pull your jersey down over your knees like that; you’ll get it all out of shape.

  Geoffrey, Lavinia, don’t copy him. I don’t want everybody pulling their sweaters down over their knees.

  Now then, Peggy, you tell us, what was our bunny rabbit’s name?

&n
bsp; Yes, I know his name was bunny rabbit, but what did his mummy call him, I wonder?

  Well, Piggy bunny isn’t a very good name for a bunny rabbit. You see a piggy is a piggy and a bunny is a bunny, so we can’t have a piggy bunny, can we?

  Nor a pussy bunny.

  Nor a doggie bunny.

  Nor an elephant bunny.

  Let’s be sensible, please.

  No, Sidney, Silly Old Fat Man isn’t a good name for a bunny rabbit.

  Nor is Wizzle Wuzzle.

  No, it’s not as funny as all that. There’s no need to roll about on the floor.

  Timmy, what have you got in your hand?

  But we haven’t had toast and marmalade for two days. Where did you find it?

  In your pocket. No you can’t eat it – it’s all fuzzy. Now don’t touch anything. Go and put it in the waste-paper basket and then wash your hands.

  Peggy open the door for him. Don’t touch anything and hurry back, please; we need you.

  Now then, Hazel, what would you like our bunny rabbit to be called?

  Yes, I think Princess Anne is a very pretty name, but I don’t think it’s a very good name for a boy bunny rabbit. We’ll call him Billy Bunny Rabbit…

  Because that’s his name…

  Well, because I happen to know. We’re not going to discuss it any more.

  Sue don’t kiss Neville like that.

  Because he doesn’t like it.

  Yes, I know you like it, but he doesn’t.

  I don’t know why he doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t.

  No, and you can’t go under the table and kiss Sidney, because he doesn’t like it either.

  Well, you didn’t like it yesterday, Sidney. You must learn to make up your mind, mustn’t you?

  George…

  Lavinia, you tell us what our bunny rabbit was doing all day.

  He was riding a horse, was he? That is unusual for a rabbit, isn’t it? I expect he went gallopy-gallopy, don’t you.

  Oh good, Sidney, you are coming out to help us tell… no, Sidney, you cannot go gallopy-gallopy…

  Neville, Susan, Peggy… everybody… come back here at once. You cannot go gallopy…

  Sidney, come back here.

  You know, sometimes I don’t think love is enough with children.

  COMMITTEE

  Joyce Grenfell

  Joyce Grenfell (1910–1979) was the daughter of the youngest of the Langhorne sisters, of whom the most celebrated was Nancy, Lady Astor. She spent her girlhood on the fringes of the famous Cliveden set, which included George Bernard Shaw and Noël Coward, but it wasn’t until a dinner party in 1938 that her genius for dramatic monologue was discovered when she gave an impromptu imitation of a Women’s Institute speaker. She was an accomplished actress and starred in many films, including the St Trinian’s series. She was also a regular on television, radio and the stage, and entertained the troops during the war with her usual wit, charm and humour.

  The ladies are assembled in Mrs Hailestones front room somewhere north of Birmingham. The telly is full on. It is time to start the meeting.

  Well, let’s get down to business, shall we?

  Would you be so good as to turn off your telly, please, Mrs Hailestone? Thank you. That’s better. It’s very good of you to let us use your front room. I think we’re all assembled. Mrs Brill, Miss Culch, Mrs Pell, Mrs Hailestone, May and me. All right then. May, let’s have the minutes of the last meeting.

  Oh, May. You’re supposed to have them in that little book I gave you. I told you last time. You’re supposed to write down everything we do and say and then read it out at the next meeting, and I sign it.

  I know we all know what we said and did, dear, but you have to write it down. That’s what minutes are for.

  Don’t cry, May, dear. Let’s get on with the next item on the agenda. Apologies for Absence. You read out the excuses. Oh, May. Well, you must try and remember to bring your glasses next time. All right, I’ll read them. Give them here. Cheer up.

  Mrs Slope is very sorry she’s caught up. Can’t come.

  Miss Heddle’s got her mother again. Can’t come.

  Lady Widmore sent a telegram ‘ALAS CANNOT BE WITH YOU DEVASTATED’. Can’t come.

  Well then. As you all know, this is another special meeting of the Ladies’ Choral to talk about the forthcoming Festival and County Choral Competition. We know the date and we know the set song. Yes we do, May. It’s in two parts for ladies’ voices in E flat, ‘My Bosom is a Nest’.

  But of course what we are really here for tonight is this very important question of voices in the choir. Now, we don’t want any unpleasantness. Friendly is what we are, and friendly is how we are going to go on. But it’s no good beating about the bush, we all know there is one voice among the altos that did not ought to be there. And I think we all know to what I am referring.

  Now, don’t think that I don’t like Mrs Codlin, because I do. Yes, she is a very nice woman. Look at how nice she is with her little car – giving us all lifts here and there. And she’s a lovely lender – lends you her books, and her knitting patterns, recipes, anything. Lovely. Yes, she is a regular churchgoer and a most generous donator to the fund. But she just has this one fault: she does not blend.

  May, dear, would you be so kind as to slip out and see if I left the lamp turned off on my bike? I don’t want to waste the battery, and I can’t remember if I did it. Thank you, May.

  Ladies, I didn’t like to say anything in front of May, but I must remind you that Mrs Codlin’s voice is worse than what ever May’s was; and you know what happened the last time we let May sing in the competition. We were disqualified. So you see it is very important and very serious.

  Oh thank you, May, dear. Had I? I am a big silly, aren’t I?

  You see, it isn’t as if Mrs Codlin had a voice you could ignore. I mean you can’t drown her out. They can hear her all down the road, over the sopranos; yes, over your piano, Mrs Pell, over everything. You know, I was stood next to her at practice last week when we did ‘The Wild Brown Bee is my Lover’. When we’d finished I said to her very tactfully, thinking she might like to take the hint, I said: ‘I wonder who it is stands out so among the altos?’ and she said she hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t noticed! Mrs Brill was on her other side and she said to me afterwards, didn’t you, Mrs Brill? she said the vibrations were so considerable they made her chest hum.

  No, I know she doesn’t do it on purpose, May.

  No, of course she didn’t ought to have been let in in the first place. It’s ridiculous. It makes a nonsense of music. But the thing is, it was her idea, wasn’t it? She founded the choir.

  Do you think if anyone was to ask her very nicely not to sing it might stop her? I mean we could let her come and just stand there. Yes, Mrs Hailestone, she does look like a singer, I’ll give her that. That’s the annoying part.

  Would anybody like to ask her? Well, has anybody got any suggestions?

  No, May, not anonymous letters. They aren’t very nice.

  May…?

  I wonder… May, one of your jobs as secretary is watching the handbags and the coats at competitions, isn’t it? I mean you have to stay in the cloakroom all during the competitions, don’t you? I thought so. Look, May; now don’t think we don’t appreciate you as secretary – we do, dear, don’t we ladies? – But would you like to resign? Just say yes now, and I’ll explain it all later. Lovely.

  Well, we accept your resignation, and I would like to propose that we appoint Mrs Codlin secretary and handbag-watcher for the next competition. Anybody second that? Thank you, Mrs Hailestone. Any against? Then that’s passed unanimously. Lovely. Oh, I know it’s not in order, Mrs Pell, but we haven’t any minutes to prove it. May didn’t have a pencil, did you, May?

  Well, I think it’s a very happy solution. We get rid of her and keep her at one and the same time.

  What did you say, May? Can you sing if Mrs Codlin doesn’t?

  Oh, May, you’ve put us right back to sq
uare one.

  THOUGHT FOR TODAY

  Joyce Grenfell

  Joyce Grenfell (1910–1979) was the daughter of the youngest of the Langhorne sisters, of whom the most celebrated was Nancy, Lady Astor. She spent her girlhood on the fringes of the famous Cliveden set, which included George Bernard Shaw and Noël Coward, but it wasn’t until a dinner party in 1938 that her genius for dramatic monologue was discovered when she gave an impromptu imitation of a Women’s Institute speaker. She was an accomplished actress and starred in many films, including the St Trinian’s series. She was also a regular on television, radio and the stage, and entertained the troops during the war with her usual wit, charm and humour.

  For the original, English version of this sketch, written in 1950 for ‘Fenny Plain’, the speaker used the same bright South-of-England suburban voice as the W.I. lecturer in ‘Useful and Acceptable Gifts’. When I went to Broadway for the first time in 1954 I re-wrote the monologue and changed the background and income group of the enthusiastic speaker. This American woman has houses on Long Island and in Maine, a farm in Virginia and an apartment (or maybe a duplex?) in Manhattan, the scene of the sketch. She frequently crosses the Atlantic. The long drawling vowel sounds I used for this woman once indicated immense wealth. The same vowel sounds are heard in her fluent French.

  Lily, darling… How divine to see you. Come right on in.

  Dimitri, voulez-vous apporter les drinks ici au librairie, toute suite. Oui, toutes les bouteilles. Isn’t he divine, Lily? He’s the only white Russian butler left in the whole of New York. I found him in Paris and he’s so typical. Moody and depressing. Just the way the Russians used to be. So much more fun. But Lily, come and sit down. I can’t wait to tell you what’s happened to me.

  My dear, I am entirely different… Well, I am inside.

  Lily, have you ever heard of Dr Pelting? My dear, you’re going to. He is the most marvellous man in the whole world, and he knows the answer to everything.

  Lily, you know how I worried? O, I mean I worried so I fell asleep all the time doing it… just talking to people or playing bridge… and I worried whether to go to California or get my hair cut. And I worried whether it was wrong to be so rich. But Dr Pelting says it isn’t in the least wrong. He says it’s fine to be rich.