The Complete Fawlty Towers

by John Cleese

  Mr. Leeman: I don’t really mind.

  Basil: Are you sure? Fine, well you go along and have a really good night’s sleep then—I’m hoping to get a couple of hours later on myself . . . (shouting after Mr. Leeman as he goes up the stairs) but I’ll be up in good time to serve you your breakfast in bed. (Leeman has now gone) If you can remember to sleep with your mouth open you won’t even have to wake up. I’ll just drop in small pieces of lightly buttered kipper when you’re breathing in the right direction, if that doesn’t put you out. (imitates Sybil) Basil! (slaps his own wrist)

  The dining room at breakfast the next morning. Dr. Price is at the centre table; Polly is taking his order.

  Dr. Price: Sausages, please.

  Polly: Just sausages?

  Dr. Price: Just sausages.

  Polly: Tea or coffee?

  Dr. Price: Coffee, please.

  There are sounds of a minor fracas at Mrs. Chase’s table. Polly moves over there. The dog is seated on a chair at the table.

  Manuel: But is . . .

  Mrs. Chase: No, no, not a saucer.

  Manuel: Cómo?

  Mrs. Chase: I said a bowl.

  Manuel: . . . a ball?

  Mrs. Chase: Yes. And not cold like this, that’s too cold. I said tepid, didn’t I?

  Polly: Mas grande, Manuel—de agua caliente.

  Manuel: Ah. (he and Polly move off)

  Mrs. Chase: He could catch pneumonia from that. And bring another cushion. He’s not quite high enough.

  Polly and Manuel go into the kitchen. Terry is cooking and Sybil helping.

  Polly: Sausages on six, Terry.

  Terry: Coming up.

  Polly: Mas grande, Manuel.

  She hurries into the lobby, passing Basil as he comes in looking at the paper.

  Basil: Another car strike. Would you believe it.

  Sybil (handing him a packet): Put these kippers back, would you, Basil.

  Basil: They ought to get Butlin’s to run our car factories.

  Sybil: In the fridge.

  Basil (looking at the kippers): . . . These should have been eaten by . . . when was the sixth?

  Sybil: Oh, that’s all right.

  Basil: It says on the packet, Sybil.

  Terry: They’re all right, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil (checking with the paper): The sixth?

  Sybil: That’s just to cover themselves.

  Polly hurries in and hands Manuel a cushion. He goes into the dining room with it.

  Terry: Eggs and sausages, Poll.

  The dining room. Manuel approaches Mrs. Chase’s table with bowl and cushion. He puts the bowl on the floor.

  Mrs. Chase: On the table . . . on the table. (Manuel puts the cushion on the table) No! That! (Manuel puts the bowl on the table uncertainly; Mrs. Chase picks up the dog) Now put that under him. (Manuel puts the bowl on the chair) The cushion! The cushion!

  Manuel puts the cushion under the dog, but the dog snaps at him, scoring a hit.

  Manuel: He bite me!

  Mrs. Chase: You frightened him.

  Manuel: Qué?

  Mrs. Chase: You make sudden movements like that, of course he’s going to bite. Don’t you have dogs in Calcutta?

  Polly (coming up): Excuse me, but I have an order for eggs and sausage for this table.

  Mrs. Chase: Oh, yes. The sausages are for him. (Polly puts the food down)

  Manuel: Ooh!

  Polly: What’s the matter, Manuel?

  Manuel: He bite me.

  Mrs. Chase: Cut them up. Cut them up into little pieces. (Polly starts cutting up her eggs) No, not my eggs, not my eggs. The sausages!

  Polly: Oh, sorry. (she goes to cut them up but the dog takes a bite at her, too)

  Manuel: He bite Polly, too. You see?

  Mrs. Chase: If dogs are allowed in the dining room at least the staff should know how to handle them.

  Polly (charmingly): I’ll cut them up in the kitchen, Mrs. Chase.

  Mrs. Chase: Little pieces.

  The kitchen. Terry is finishing the kippers.

  Terry: Kippers ready!

  Polly and Manuel enter. She puts the plate down, hard.

  Manuel: He hurt you, Polly?

  Basil is peering at the kippers.

  Sybil: Basil, what are you doing?

  Basil: . . . Do you know when the sixth was, Sybil?

  Sybil: Will you just take it upstairs.

  Terry: They’re all right, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil: Are they supposed to be that colour?

  Sybil: Basil, will you just take it up. What’s the matter, Manuel?

  Polly: That hairy mosquito just bit us both.

  Sybil: What?

  Manuel: Is not right in dining room like that.

  Sybil: Well, she pays extra for the dog, Manuel, you see . . . Basil, it’s after eight.

  Basil (still peering at the kippers): Poisoning is still an offence in this country, you know, Sybil.

  Sybil: Oh do get a move on, we’ve got a busy day, I’ve got the laundrymen coming . . .

  Basil: The laundrymen! My God! A woman’s work is never delegated, is it. (he exits)

  Sybil: What are you doing, Polly?

  Polly: Just preparing some sausages. (she adds some tabasco sauce to them) Bangers à la Bang.

  The upstairs corridor. Basil comes along with the tray, looking at the paper as he goes. He arrives at Mr. Leeman’s door and knocks.

  Basil: Good morning! Breakfast!

  Inside the room Mr. Leeman is sitting up in bed, his eyes open. He is dead. The room light is on. Outside, Basil knocks again.

  Basil: Breakfast! (he opens the door and goes in; he puts the tray down in front of Mr. Leeman) Here we are. (he picks up a book from the floor; Mr. Leeman slumps forward and appears to be staring at the newspaper; Basil puts the book down on the bedside table) Another car strike. Marvellous, isn’t it. (goes to the window and draws the curtains) Taxpayers pay ’em millions each year, they get the money, go on strike. It’s called Socialism. I mean if they don’t like making cars why don’t they get themselves another bloody job designing cathedrals or composing viola concertos? The British Leyland Concerto in four movements, all of ’em slow, with a four-hour tea break in between. I’ll tell you why, ’cos they’re not interested in anything except lounging about on conveyor belts stuffing themselves with my money. You don’t mind if I turn the light off? (he does so and turns to Mr. Leeman as he opens the door) Well, enjoy your breakfast . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that . . . oh, not at all, thank you for mentioning it. (he exits, closing the door, and starts off down the corridor) Unbelievable. Un-be-lievable. Not a single bloody word. You get up at five-thirty so they can lounge around in bed till midday and do you get so much as a word of thanks? (he gets to the bottom of the stairs as Polly comes out of the kitchen carrying a little silver jug) What’s that?

  Polly: Forgot the milk.

  Basil: Well, don’t get talking to him, you’ll never get away. (he goes into the kitchen; Polly disappears up the stairs)

  The kitchen. Sybil is working on her laundry list.

  Basil: Would you believe it? I get him his breakfast, I take it all the way upstairs, I lay it in front of him, hand him his newspaper, I tidy the room, draw the curtains, guess what he says? (Sybil is absorbed with her list) I said, ‘Guess what he says?’

  Sybil: Mmmmm?

  Basil: Nothing! (no reaction) Your friend, the one in eight. Nothing . . . not a word! Are you listening to me? . . . Hello, hello . . . can anyone hear me? Have I ceased to exist? Have I become invisible? Sybil, Sybil, Sybil . . . can you see me?

  Sybil (looking round at him): No. (she returns to her list)

  Basil: Oh good. Well, I’ll go and lie down then. No I won’t, I’ll go and hit some guests. (he exits into the dining room)

  The dining room. He is sneaking up behind a guest when there are strange strangled death-rattle noises from Mrs. Chase’s table.

  Mrs. Chase: Poor little boy . . . poor little
toma-woma . . . ah . . . let me see . . .

  The kitchen. Terry gives Manuel a plate of sausages.

  Terry: Dr. Price’s sausages.

  Polly runs into the kitchen, rather upset.

  Sybil: What is it, Polly?

  Polly: He’s dead.

  Sybil: . . . Dead? Who?

  Polly: . . . Number eight.

  Sybil: Leeman. But Basil just took him his breakfast.

  Polly: He’s cold.

  Sybil: Oh no.

  Sybil and Polly run out into the lobby. Manuel and Terry stare at each other. Basil enters.

  Basil: What’s the matter with that dog?

  Manuel: . . . He is dead.

  Basil: Well, he’s certainly struggling for life at the moment. A dead dog in the breakfast room, eh? Egon Ronay’d knock off a star for that.

  Manuel: No, no . . . Mr. Leeman is dead.

  Basil: Well, that would explain a lot.

  Terry: No, Mr. Fawlty, really . . . Poll just said so.

  Basil: What are you on about? I just took him his kippers . . . Oh my God! (he turns and runs out at full speed)

  The lobby. Basil runs upstairs, passing Sybil.

  Sybil: Leeman’s dead. I’m getting Dr. Price.

  Basil: Wait! . . . Wait! (but she’s gone; he runs on up)

  Mr. Leeman’s room. Polly is there; Basil rushes in. He stares at the body.

  Polly: I just put the milk down on the tray . . . (Basil picks up the plate of kippers and looks around feverishly) . . . What are you doing? (Basil grabs the kippers and throws the plate under the bed) . . . What are you doing?

  Basil (running to the window): I told her. I told her the sixth. We could get twenty years for this. (he is having trouble opening the window)

  Polly: What?

  Basil: The kippers! The kippers! Oh my God. (he moves the window up a bit)

  Polly: Mr. Fawlty, he’s been dead for hours. (Basil is still struggling with the window) Mr. Fawlty! He’s cold. He’s been dead for hours. He must have died in his sleep. Mr. Fawlty!

  Basil: What, what?

  Polly: He hasn’t touched those kippers. Well, look! Feel him!

  Basil: What?

  Polly: Feel him!

  Basil (feeling the body): He’s stone cold.

  Polly: Yes.

  Basil: Oh joy!! Oh, thank you God! Isn’t it wonderful!!! Oh, I’m so happy! Hooray! (Polly is trying to restrain him) Hoo . . . (he turns and sees Dr. Price standing there with Sybil) Sad, isn’t it. Tch tch tch. (he hides the kippers inside his cardigan)

  Dr. Price: May I ask who . . . (looks at Basil; he has smelt the kipper)

  Basil: Bit stuffy, isn’t it. I’ll open a window.

  Sybil (prompting Dr. Price): Who . . . ?

  Dr. Price: Who found the body?

  Sybil: Polly did.

  Polly: I was bringing him up the milk . . . and . . . we’d forgotten it.

  Dr. Price: You brought the milk with the breakfast?

  Sybil: No, the breakfast had been brought up.

  Dr. Price: Well, who brought the breakfast? Who found him?

  Basil is at the window; he tries to flip one of the kippers out but it hits a pane and falls back. He puts his foot on it. Dr. Price looks at him.

  Basil: Oh, I brought the breakfast.

  Dr. Price (seeing the kipper): What’s that?

  Basil: Er . . . that’s a bit of it.

  Dr. Price: Bit of what?

  Basil: A bit of the breakfast.

  Dr. Price: You brought him his breakfast.

  Basil: Yes.

  Dr. Price: So you told her he was dead.

  Basil: Yes.

  Dr. Price (to Polly): Well, then, why did you bring him . . . (Basil tries to get the other kipper out of his cardigan but Dr. Price looks at him; Dr. Price returns to Polly) Why did you bring him the milk, then?

  Polly: Why?

  Dr. Price: Yes, why?

  Polly: Well, when he said Mr. Leeman was dead, I thought he’d said he’s still in bed.

  Sybil: Well, he didn’t actually say he was dead, Dr. Price.

  Basil: Well, I said he was pretty quiet.

  Dr. Price: Quiet?

  Basil: Exactly.

  Sybil: What were you talking to him about, Basil, car strikes, was it?

  Basil: Thank you, Sybil.

  Dr. Price: I don’t understand. He’s been dead for about ten hours.

  Basil: Yes, it’s so final, isn’t it.

  Sybil: Basil!

  Basil: Well, wouldn’t you say it was final dear, I’d say it was pretty bloody final.

  Dr. Price: Do you mean to tell me you didn’t realize this man was dead?

  Basil: People don’t talk that much in the morning . . . well look, I’m just delivering a tray, right? If the guest isn’t singing ‘Oh What A Beautiful Morning’ I don’t immediately think, ‘Oh there’s another one snuffed it in the night.’ Another name in the Fawlty Towers Book of Remembrance. I mean, this is a hotel, not the Burma Railway.

  Sybil: Basil!

  Basil: Well, I mean it does actually say ‘Hotel’ outside, you know. Perhaps I should be more specific. ‘Hotel for people who have a better than fifty per cent chance of making it through the night’. . . what are you looking at me like that for?

  Sybil (goes over to him; quietly): Basil, there’s a kipper sticking out of your jumper.

  Basil: Ah, there it is. I’ve been looking for that. That’s the other one.

  Sybil: We’ll be downstairs, doctor. (starts propelling Basil out of the room)

  Polly: Shall I ring the undertaker?

  Sybil: Would you, Polly.

  Basil (shouting back over his shoulder): I’ve been up since five-thirty, you know. (he is borne out of the room; Dr. Price starts his examination)

  The lobby. Sybil, Basil and Polly come downstairs. Basil still has the kipper in his hands.

  Sybil: He was leaving today. Some people are coming at lunchtime.

  Basil: Well, we’ll put him in another room.

  Sybil: We’re full tonight. Oh do put that away. (he throws the kipper into the kitchen) Get the body into the office until the undertaker comes.

  Basil: Now?

  Sybil: When doctor’s finished. (she goes to the reception desk, where Polly is dialling)

  Basil: What are you doing?

  Sybil: Making up his bill.

  Basil: Who are you going to give it to?

  Sybil: We’ll put it in his wallet, they’re bound to look there. Better not charge him for breakfast.

  Miss Gatsby appears at the dining-room door.

  Polly (to phone): Mr. Simkins? Fawlty Towers here. I’m afraid somebody’s died during the night . . . When could you collect the body? (she sees Miss Gatsby coming up) . . . Somebody . . . anybody, really . . .

  Basil (takes Miss Gatsby’s arm gallantly to move her on): Good morning, good morning!

  Miss Gatsby: You’re very cheerful this morning, Mr. Fawlty.

  Basil (cheerfully): Yes, well one of the guests has just died.

  Miss Gatsby: Oooh, you are wicked. (she goes)

  Basil: Manuel! Manuel! (Manuel runs out of the kitchen dusting off the kipper; Basil grabs it) Manuel, we’re going to get the body. (to Polly) Polly . . . Polly . . . (he nods his head towards upstairs)

  Polly (to phone): Yes, if you can. (she puts the phone down)

  Basil (waves the kipper, then sees Dr. Price coming down the stairs): Would it be all right to . . .

  Dr. Price nods. Basil, Manuel and Polly hurry upstairs.

  Dr. Price (to Sybil): Could I use the phone please, I have to call the coroner.

  Sybil: The coroner?!

  Dr. Price: I can’t give him his death certificate because I’m not his doctor. I have to report his death to the coroner . . .

  Sybil: Oh, I see. Of course. Do come this way, doctor. (she leads him into the office)

  The upstairs corridor. Polly is watching down the stairs. Basil’s head appears from Mr. Leeman’s room.

/>   Basil: All clear?

  Polly: All clear . . .

  Basil and Manuel appear carrying the body, covered with a sheet with some folded towels on top.

  Manuel: Is heavy.

  Basil: Come on, come on!

  Miss Tibbs appears behind them and is about to overtake.

  Miss Tibbs: Good morning, Manuel.

  Manuel: Good morning.

  Some towels fall off the body.

  Miss Tibbs: Oh . . . I’ll pick it up. (she picks up the towels and tries to replace them)

  Basil: No, it’s all right. Leave it. No, leave it. It’s heavy.

  Miss Tibbs: No, it’s quite all right, I’ll put them like that.

  Basil: Look, don’t bother. We can manage.

  Miss Tibbs: Oh, it’s no bother.

  Basil: No, no, leave it alone!

  Miss Tibbs: I know, if I just fold them like this. (Manuel groans under the weight)

  Basil: Go away! Move, Manuel! Move, move, move!

  Polly (taking Miss Tibbs by the arm): I’ll do it, Miss Tibbs.

  Miss Tibbs: No, it’s all right. (they move off with the body, but she is standing on the sheet; it comes off; Miss Tibbs screams) Aaahh! He’s dead!

  Basil: Serves you right.

  Polly (trying to calm the screaming Miss Tibbs): Sshh! Sshh! It’s all right, Miss Tibbs.

  Miss Tibbs: Aaaah! Oh my God!

  Basil: Shut up!

  Polly tries to muffle Miss Tibbs, but fails.

  Miss Tibbs: Aaaaaagggggghhhh!

  Basil: Slap her!

  Polly: What?

  Basil: She’s hysterical. Slap her.

  Polly tries to put her hand over Miss Tibbs’ mouth but she gets bitten and withdraws the hand very fast. Manuel groans.

  Miss Tibbs: Murder! Murder!!

  Basil: Slap her!

  Polly does so. Miss Tibbs folds up and falls to the floor. Manuel drops the body.

  Basil (to Polly): Oh, spiffing! Absolutely spiffing. Well done! Two dead, twenty-five to go. (he hears a noise from downstairs) Quick, Polly!

  Polly runs to the top of the stairs. Basil drags the body into the nearest room and then gets Manuel to help him carry Miss Tibbs into the same room. Polly is on her knees, stalling Mr. and Mrs. White, who are coming up.

  Polly: I just dropped my ring. Oh . . . there it is. (she hears the door slam) Oh, sorry, I’m in your way. (she gets up)

  Mr. White: That’s quite all right. (they pass her and make for the room into which Basil and Manuel have taken the bodies)

  Polly (getting between them and the door): Oh! Is this your room?