Continuity Announcer (m): This is the BBC Home Service. And now, we present: What's My Line? Signature Music: up, to finish and out Presenter (m): Good evening, and... Oh! Good evening, and... Ohhh! Go... Good evening, and... g.. good, good evening... Continuity Announcer (f): Well, there'll be another edition of What's My Line?, at the same time next week. But now, Film 77. Music: Film 77 signature music, then down, and fade out Presenter (m, a different one): Hello, well on Film 77 tonight we'll be looking at the 17th remake of Felix Ailma, we'll be showing you a short piece of Roger Moore, and we'll also be previewing the new Elizabeth Taylor double feature. And if we're very very lucky, we're hoping to look in on the shooting of Tatum O'Neil. But first, we're devoting the whole of tonight's programme to the BBC's first ever motion picture for radio. The film sequel to the humorous wireless programme, Son Of The Burkiss Way. Just a few of the glittering stars like Jo Kendall, Chris Emmett, Nigel Rees and Fred Harris; but most of them don't. Well, later on, I'll be chatting to lots and lots of the many fascinating people involved, of Croydon. But first, let's start off with a clip from the film. Music: some kind of medieval music Narrator (m): England, Sixteen O Three. A country in terror, and as Queen Glenda the First prepares to breathe her last, having as yet named no successor to the throne, the vultures gather. Music: down and out F/X: foot steps Queen Glenda (f): Come, my lords. You know that I, your flower of flowers, your silken mistress, hhhhhhg, am snuffing it. Hhhhhhg. List', my noble Duke of Bristol, hhhhhg, tis' no use, I sink by the hour. What is this evil monster sent to plague me? I besiege you to comfort your beloved Queen. Bristol (m): No thanks, I'd rather stay here with you. Queen Glenda: Aaahh, you are a true and faithful friend, and I shall remember you always. Aye truly, your name will forever lie embedded in my heart, Northumberland. Bristol: Er, Bristol, your Majesty. Queen Glenda: Oh. Very well. Your name will forever lie embedded in my Bristol, Northumberland. Come, I grow weary of this live, I crave amusement. Send in the Court Surgeon. Bristol: Very good, your Majesty. Send in the Court Surgeon. F/X: fanfares sounding, door opening, foot steps approaching Court Surgeon (m): A good moro', your Royal Highness, a' behold; first of all, I proceed to make unto an incision here in the leg, just above the head of the femure, the best to delicately expose the [Gludious ?] maximus muscle of the upper buttock. F/X: Saw sawing through wood Court Surgeon: Next, [privy ?] observe, while I [??] insert the scalpel beneath the tendum of the Rectus femoris, between the Illiam and Patella. F/X: Saw sawing through wood Court Surgeon: And thus enabling me to subtly detach the lateral artery from its anterior capillary! F/X: Saw sawing through wood Queen Glenda: Stop, stop! I'm afraid this isn't making me laugh very much. The gag cracker's ball did that ages ago. Northumberland, take this man, and what's left of his friend away, will you. And have them hung from the highest tower. Bristol: Er, this is a bungalow, M'am. Queen Glenda: A bungalow?! You mean to tell me I'm living in a bungalow? Bristol: Yes, M'am. Queen Glenda: But I thought I had Cardinal Wolsey's Hampton Court. Bristol: That was just an accident with a napkin ring, M'am. Queen Glenda: Very well. He shall feel an even more painful torture. Bristol: You don't mean... Queen Glenda: Yes! Take him to the short-sighted conkers player. Court Surgeon: No!! No! Ah, oh, pity, oh pity, not... Queen Glenda: Away. To the short-sighted conkers player with him, guards. Court Surgeon: No!! No!! Good, good lady... No, oh pity, ah, no... F/X: he's being dragged away, door falling shut Court Surgeon: Aaahhhhhhhhhhh!!! Aouww!! Queen Glenda: I trust that will be a lesson to him. Now, hush, for I am growing an old woman. Makes a [chain/change ?] from tomatoes. But tell me, what news of the plots to succeed me on the throne of England? Bristol: Tis' in no wise good, your Majesty. The Lords Leicester, Warwick and Monmouth are at this very moment conspiring to name their own choice as your successor: The young Prince Eunuch of Gloucester. Queen Glenda: Prince Eunuch? But what has he got, that I haven't? Bristol: Not a lot, your Majesty. Queen Glenda: Ahhh, [thise ?] me. The Royal Astrologers say I am to die at noon. Oh, tragic that I never had a child. Bristol: Well, we've still got twenty minutes, your Majesty. Queen Glenda: Soft! And put that away. (pause) I hear voices without. What dirty work is this afoot? F/X: door opened, foot steps approaching Herold (m): It is the Lord of Hendon Central! Hendon (m): Correct, snivelling [nave ?]. And I, Lord of Hendon Central, am here to claim the throne for the Earl of Mornington Crescent, bastard son of Prince Goodge Street. Queen Glenda: Impudent scoundrel. Think you still that I will surrender the throne to the Northern Line? Not while I have a breath left in me, hhhhhhhgg! Hendon: Such empty gestures do you proud, good Queen. But the Northern Line will be installed as monarch. Know you, that the Duke of South Wimbledon is already massing forces on the border, with the Lord's Tufnell Park, Tottenham Court Road, and Change at St. Pancras for Arnos Grove? F/X: door opening Lord 1 (m): Not so fast, Hendon. Your rebel forces have already been [rauted ?] by those who would see the one rightful heir as King. Hendon: [Permission ?]? You don't mean...? Lord 1: Correct. Alf Tupper, the Tough of the Track. Queen Glenda: Alf Tupper?? I know no wit of this man, who is he? Lord 1: Come, come your Majesty, you know as well as I, that the noble Tupper is none other than, a character in the Victor. Queen Glenda: What? The Victor Boys' Comic? Lord 1: Of course. Queen Glenda: But what claim has he to the English throne? Lord 1: What claim? Is it not obvious even to such a simpleton as yourself? Why, he has to finish a welding job at the forge, but, but, he get's a lift in a coal lorry, and turns up on time at the race track, eating fish and chips of course. Queen Glenda: I still don't see... Lord 2 (m): Ignore him, your Majesty! You must support Essex and his client, Captain Birdseye. Lord 3 (m): Eh, nay, eh eh nay, your Majesty, back Robert Cecil, Champion the wonder-horse, with Bela Lugosi as Lord Protector. Lord 4 (m): Silence you fools! At this very moment, Colonel Blink, the Short-Sighted Gink marches on London; with a spherical plum pudding, and a pile of mashed potatoes with two sausages sticking out each side. Queen Glenda: I have heard enough. Now you shall hear my choice. Herold, prepare to read the Royal will. Herold: Very good, your Majesty. F/X: paper being un-rolled Herold: I shall read the results in reverse order: Tupper Alf, place thrid in. Junction Willesden, place second in. Place first in, and... F/X: fanfares sounding, further paper being un-rolled Herold: Dean Martin! Lord 1: Dean Martin? My men will not stand for that. Hendon: And nor will mine. Narrator: And with opposition thus mounted to the Duke of Dean Martin, so... Director (m): Cut!