Parody of Thomas the tank engine & Friends season 4
I don't own either Blackdder and Thomas the Tank Engine
Sorry for any of those felt insulted because it is a parody that dose not make no sense at all!
James Goes Forth
Main starring
James the Red Engine as Captain James Redadder
Thomas the Tank Engine as Lieutenant Thomas St. Matthias Brighton
Percy the Small Engine as Private Percy Small
Henry the Green Engine as General Henry Green "Inanity" Stanier
Oliver the Second Great Western Engine as Captain Oliver Great Western
Captain Cook
"When Field Marshal Tubbyguts Fatty Hatt unveils his new strategy to move his liquor cabinet six inches closer to Crovan's Gate, James volunteers to be official War Artist."
[The dugout. James is sitting in a chair reading a book. A record is playing softly. Scratching noises are heard.]
James: Percy, what are you doing out there?
Percy: I'm carving something on this bullet sir.
James: What are you carving?
Percy: I'm carving "Percy, "sir.
James: Why?
Percy: It's a cunning plan actually.
James: Of course it is.
Percy: You see, you know they say that somewhere there's a bullet with your name on it?
James: Yes?
Percy: Well, I thought if I owned the bullet with my name on it, I'd never get hit by it, 'cos I won't ever shoot myself.
James: Oh, shame.
Percy: And, the chances of there being two bullets with my name on them are very small indeed.
James: That's not the only thing around here that's "very small indeed." Your brain for example, is so minute, Percy, that if a hungry cannibal cracked your head open there wouldn't be enough inside to cover a small water-biscuit.
[Thomas enters.]
Thomas: Tally-ho pip-pip and Bernard's your uncle.
James: In English we say, "Good Morning."
Thomas: Looks what I got for you sir.
James: What?
Thomas: It's the latest issue of "Controllers & Railways." Oh, damn inspiring stuff; the magazine that tells the Tommies the truth about the war.
James: Or alternatively, the greatest work of fiction since vows of fidelity were included in the Union Pacific marriage service. [flicks through paper]
Thomas: Come, come, sir, now. You can't deny that this fine newspaper is good for the morale of the men.
James: Certainly not, I just think that more could be achieved by giving them some real toilet-paper. [hands paper back to Thomas]
Thomas: Not with you at all sir, what could any patriotic chap have against this magnificent mag?
James: Apart from his bottom?
Thomas: Yes.
James: Well look at it. [Takes the paper again] I mean the stuff's about as convincing as Dr. Victor Baldwin and Bad Bob's defence lawyer. The North Western Tommies are all portrayed as six foot six with biceps the size of Knapford.
Thomas: Thoroughly inspiring stuff. And looks sir, this also arrived for you this morning. [Hands papers bag to James]
James: [opening the bag, taking out a Thompson submachine gun] Hmm, do you know what this is, Lieutenant?
Thomas: It's a good old service submachine gun.
James: Wrong. It's a brand new service submachine gun, which I've suspiciously been sent without asking for it. I smell something fishy, and I'm not talking about the contents of Percy's Tidmouth Kipper.
Thomas: That's funny sir, because we didn't order those new trench-climbing ladders either.
James: New ladders?
Thomas: Yeah, came yesterday. I issued them to the men, and they were absolutely thrilled. [Calls to Percy] Isn't that right man?
Percy: [from the doorway] Yes sir, first solid fuel we've had since we burned the cow.
James: Something's going on, and I think I can make an educated guess what it is. Something which you, Thomas, would find hard to do. [They go outside into the trench]
Thomas: Ah, true, true. Where I was at school, education could go hang as long as a boy could hit a six, sing the school song very loud, and take a hot crumpet from behind without blabbing.
James: I, on the other hand, am a fully rounded man with a degree from the university of life, a diploma from the school of hard knocks, and three gold stars from the kindergarten of getting the shit kicked out of me. My instincts lead me to deduce that we are at last about to go over the top. [Peers over the top of the trench with a periscope]
Thomas: Great Scott sir, you mean, you mean the moment's finally arrived for us to give Percvies Huns a darned good North Western style thrashing, six of the best, trousers down?
James: If you mean, "Are we all going to get killed?" Yes. Clearly, Field Marshal Fatty Ass Hatt is about to make yet another gargantuan effort to move his drinks cabinet six inches closer to Crovan's Gate.
Thomas: Right! Bravo-issimo! Well let's make a start eh, up and over to glory, last one in Crovan's Gate a rotten egg.
James: Give me your helmet, lieutenant.
[Thomas hands his helmet to James, who throws it up into the sky. Immediately heavy machine-guns fire is heard. He catches the helmet, which now has more than million holes in it, and gives it back to Thomas.]
Thomas: Yes, some sort of clever hat-camouflage might be in order.
Percy: Permission to speak sir.
James: Granted, with a due sense of exhaustion and dread.
Percy: I have a cunning plan to get us out of getting killed sir.
James: Ah yes, what is it?
Percy: Cooking.
James: I see. [enters the dugout again]
Percy: You know staff HQ is always on the lookout for good cooks? Well, we go over there, we cook 'em something, and get out of the trenches that way.
James: Percy, it's a brilliant plan.
Percy: Is it?
James: Yes, it's superb.
Percy: [delighted] Permission to write home immediately sir, this is the first brilliant plan a Small's ever had! For centuries we've tried, and they've always turned out to be total pigswill. My mother will be as pleased as Punch.
James: Hm-hm, if only she were as good-looking as Punch, Percy. There is however one slight flaw in the plan.
Percy: Oh?
James: You're the worst cook in the entire world.
Percy: Oh yeah, that's right.
James: There are amoebas on Saturn who can boil a better egg than you. Your Filet Mignon in sauce Bearnaise looks like dog-turds in glue.
Percy: That's because they are.
James: Your plum-duff tastes like it's a molehill decorated with rabbit-droppings.
Percy: Oi thought you'd wouldn't notice.
James: Your cream custard has the texture of cats' vomit.
Percy: Again it's . . .
James: If you were to serve one of your meals in staff HQ you'd be arrested for the greatest mass poisoning since Diesel the Devious invited 1000 of his close friends and relatives around for a oil-and-anthrax party. No, we'll have to think of a better plan than that.
Percy: Right, how about a nice meal, while you chew it over?
James: [suspicious] What's on the menu?
Percy: rat. [shows him a big black rat] Saute or fricassee.
James: [peers at the rat] Oh, the agony of choice. Saute involves . . . ?
Percy: Well, you take the freshly shaved rat, and you marinade it in a puddle for a while.
James: Hmm, for how long?
Percy: Until it's drowned. Then you stretch it out under a hot light bulb, then you get within dashing distance of the latrine, and then you scoff it right down.
James: So that's sauteing, and fricasseeing?
Percy: Exactly the same, just a slightly bigger rat.
James: Well, call me Old Mr. Unadventurous but I think I'll give it a miss this once.
[Thomas enters, wearing a new hat decorated with barbed-wire.]
Percy: Fair enough sir, more for the rest of us.
[To Thomas] Eh sir?
Thomas: Absolutely, Private. Tally-ho BARF BARF.
[The telephone rings, James picks it up.]
James: Hello, the Savoy Grill. Oh, it's you . . . yes . . . yes, I'll be over in 40 minutes.
Percy: Who was it then sir?
James: Strangely enough Percy, it was the Vicar inviting me for drinks aboard his steam-yacht "The Crazy Scruffy," currently wintering in Brendam Bay with the Sodor Cricket team and the insane fatties of plenty.
Percy: Really?
James: No, not really. I'm ordered to HQ. No doubt that idiot General Henry is about to offer me some attractive new opportunities to have my brains blown out for North Western.
[At staff HQ. Oliver is at his desk writing; James enters.]
James: What do you want, Oliver?
Oliver: It's Captain Oliver to you. General Henry wants to see you about a highly important secret mission.
Henry: [enters] What's going on, Oliver?
Oliver: Captain James to see you sir.
Henry: Ah, excellent. Just a short back and sides today I think, please.
Oliver: Er, that's Corporal Toad, sir. Captain James is here about the other matter sir, the [lowers his voice] secret matter.
Henry: Ah, yes, the special mission. At ease James. Now, what I'm about to tell you is absolutely tip-top-secret, is that clear?
James: It is sir.
Henry: Now, I've compiled a list of those with security clearance, have you got it Oliver?
Oliver: Yes sir.
Henry: Read it please.
Oliver: It's top security sir, I think that's all the Captain needing to know.
Henry: Nonsense! Let's hear the list in full!
Oliver: Very well sir. "List of personnel cleared for mission Tidmouth, as dictated by General Henry: You and me, Oliver, obviously. Field Marshal Hatt, Field Marshal Hatt's wife, all Field Marshal Hatt's wife's friends, their families, their families' servants, their families' servants' tennis partners, and some chap I bumped into the mess the other day called Pug."
Henry: So, it's maximum security, is that clear?
James: Quite so sir, only I and the rest of the Broad-Gauge railway world is to know.
Henry: Good man. Now, Field Marshal Hatt has formulated a brilliant new tactical plan to ensure final victory in the field. [They gather around a model of the battlefield]
James: Now, would this brilliant plan involve us climbing out of our trenches and walking slowly toward the enemy sir?
Oliver: How can you possibly know that James? It's classified information.
James: It's the same plan that we used last time, and the seventeen times before that.
Henry: E-E-Exactly! And that is what so brilliant about it! We will catch the watchful Hun totally off guard! Doing precisely what we have done eighteen times before is exactly the last thing they'll expect us to do this time! There is however one small problem.
James: That everyone always gets slaughtered the first ten seconds.
Henry: That's right! And Field Marshal Hatt is worried that this may be depressing the engineers a tadge. So, he's looking to find a way to cheer them up.
James: Well, his resignation and suicide would seem the obvious solution.
Henry: Interesting thought. Make a note of it, Oliver! Take a look at this: "Controllers' & Railways."
James: Ah, yes, without question my favourite magazine; soft, strong and thoroughly absorbent.
Henry: Top-hole James, I thought it would be right up your alley. Now, Field Marshal Hatt's plan is this; to commission a men to do an especially stirring painting for the cover of the next issue, so as too really inspire the men for the final push. What I want you to do, James, is to labour night and day to find a first rate artist from amongst your men.
James: Impossible sir. I know from long experience that my men have all the artistic talent of a cluster of colour-blind hedgehogs . . . in a bag.
Henry: Hm, well that's a bit of a blow. We needed a men to leave the trenches immediately.
James: Leave the trenches?
Henry: Yes.
James: Yes, I wonder if you've enjoyed, as I have sir, that marvellous painting in the National Portrait Gallery, "Bag Interior," by the colour-blind hedgehog workshop of Wellsworth.
Oliver: I'm sorry, are you saying you can find this men?
James: I think I can. And might I suggest sir that having left the trenches, it might be a good idea to post our men to Abbey [points on Henry's map], in order to soak up a little of the artistic atmosphere. Perhaps even Suddery [points], so as to produce a real masterpiece.
Henry: Yes, yes, but can you find the men?!
James: Now I know I can sir. Before you say "Sunflowers" I'll have Peter & Gunvor Edwards standing before you.
[Back in the trenches. James is painting, but Thomas is looking over his shoulder.]
Thomas: No, don't stop sir. It's coming. It's definitely coming. I, hm, yeah, ah, er, hm. I just wonder if two socks and a hand-grenade are really the sort of thing that covers of "Controllers & Railways" are made of.
James: They will be when I painted them being shoved up the Kaiser's backside.
[Thomas walks over to Percy.]
Thomas: Ah, now, now this is interesting.
Percy: What is?
Thomas: Well, Private Percy is obviously some kind of an impressionist.
James: The only impression he can do is of a man with no talent. What's it called Percy? "The Vomiting Cavalier?"
Thomas: That's not supposed to be vomit; its dab of light.
Percy: No, it's vomit.
Thomas: Yes, now er, why did you choose that?
Percy: You told me to sir.
Thomas: Did I?
Percy: Yeah, you told me to paint whatever comes from within, so I did my breakfast. Look. There's a little tomato.
James: Hopeless. If only I'd paid attention in nursery art-class instead of spending my entire time manufacturing paper-mache willies to frighten Dennis.
Thomas: You know it's funny, but painting was the only thing I was ever any good at.
James: Well, it's a pity you didn't keep it up.
Thomas: Well, as a matter of fact I did, actually. I mean [takes out pictures] I mean normally I hadn't thought I would show them to anyone, because they're just embarrassing daubs really, but you know, ah, they give me pleasure. I'm embarrassed to show them to you now as it happens, but there you go, for what their worth. To be honest, I should have my hands cut off, I mean . . .
James: Thomas! These are brilliant! Why didn't you tell us about these before?
Thomas: Well you know, one doesn't want to blow one's own trumpet.
James: You might at least have told us you had a trumpet. These paintings could spell my way out of the trenches.
Thomas: Yours?
James: That's right, ours. All you have to do is paint something heroic to appeal to the simple-minded Tommy. Over to you Percy.
Percy: How about a noble Tommy, standing with a look of horror and disgust over the body of a murdered nun, what's been done over by a nasty Old Skaries.
Thomas: Excellent. I, I can see it now; "The nuns and the Skaries."
James: Brilliant! No time to lose. Thomas, set up your easel, Percy and I will pose. This is going to be art's greatest moment since Mavis sat down and told Toby Tram she was in a slightly odd mood. Percy, you lie down in the mud and be the nun.
Percy: I'm not lying down there, it's all wet.
James: Well, let's put it this way; either you lie down and get wet, or you're knocked down and get a broken nose.
Percy: Actually it's not that wet, is it?
James: No. [pushes Percy down, splat]
Percy: Whom are you going to be then sir? The noble Tommy?
James: Precisely, standing over the body of the ravaged nun.
Percy: I want a wimple.
James: You should have gone before we started the picture.
Percy: You know, the funny thing is, my father was a nun.
James: [firmly] No he was.
Percy: He was so, sir. I know, 'cos whenever he was up in court, and the judge used to say "occupation," he'd say "nun."
[Thomas enters, dressed in painters' smock and hat, carrying a palette and easel.]
James: Right. [To Thomas] You're ready?
Thomas: Just about sir, yes. Erm, if you just like to pop your clothes on the stool.
James: I'm sorry?
Thomas: Just pop your clothes on the stool over there.
James: You mean, you want me . . . tackles out?
Thomas: Well, I would prefer so sir, yes.
James: If I can remind you of the realities of battle Thomas, one of the first things that everyone notices is that all the protagonists have got their clothes on. Neither we, nor the Skaries, favour fighting our battles "au naturel."
Thomas: Sir, it's artistic licence. It's willing suspension of disbelief.
James: Well, I'm not having anyone staring in disbelief at my willies suspension. Now, get on and paint the bloody thing, sharpish!
[Later. The painting is ready.]
James: Brilliant Thomas, it's a masterpiece. The wimple suits you Percy.
Percy: But it completely covers my face.
James: Exactly. Now then, General Henry will be here at any moment. When he arrives, leave the talking to me, all right? I like to keep an informal trench, as you know, but today you must only speak with my express permission, is that clear? [Sharply] Is that clear? [With a note of regret] Permission to speak.
Thomas: \ Yes sir, absolutely.
Percy: / Yes sir.
Oliver: [outside] Attention! [Entering] Dugout, attention!
[Henry enters.]
Henry: Excellent, at ease. Now then James, where would you like me to sit? I thought just a simple trim of the moustache today, nothing drastic.
Oliver: We're here about the painting sir.
Henry: Oh, yes, of course. [Seeing Thomas] Good Lord, Thomas, hahahaaa, how are you my boy? [Nothing] I said how are you?
James: Permission to speak.
Thomas: Absolutely top-hole sir, with a yin and a yang and a yippetty-doo.
Henry: Splendid! And your uncle Stepney sends his regards. I told him you could have a week off in April; we don't want you missing the Boat Race, do we?
James: Permission to speak.
Thomas: Certainly not. Permission to sing boisterously sir?
James: If you must.
Thomas: Row, row, row your boat,
Henry: [joins in] gently down the stream. Belts off, trousers down, aren't life a scream. HAI!
James: Fabulous, university education, you can't beat it.
Henry: Bravo, now [moving onto Percy] what have we here? Name?
James: Permission to speak.
Percy: Percy, sir.
Henry: Ah, tallyho, yippety-dip, and zing zang spillip. Looking forward to bullying off for the final chukka?
James: Permission to speak.
[Silence.]
James: Answer the General Percy.
Percy: I can't answer him sir, I don't know what he's talking about.
James: Aah, are you looking forward to the big push? [pinches Percy's cheek]
Percy: No sir, I'm absolutely terrified. [pinches Henry's]
Henry: The healthy humour of the honest Tommy. Hahaaa, don't worry my boy, if you should falter, remember that Captain Oliver and I are behind you.
James: About thirty-five miles behind you.
Henry: Right, well stand by your beds. Let's have a look at this artist of yours, James. Next to me, Oliver.
Oliver: Thank you sir. [sits down next to Henry]
Henry: So, ah, have you found someone?
James: Yes sir, I think I have; none other than young Thomas here.
Henry: Oh, bravo. Well, let's have a shufti then.
James: This is called "War." [shows his own painting]
Henry: Damn silly title Thomas. Looks more like a couple of his socks and a stick of pineapple to me.
Thomas: Ah, permission to speak sir?!
James: Er, I think not actually.
Henry: Quite right, if what happens when you open your mouth is anything like what happens when you open your paintbox, we'd all be drenched in phlegm. Oh no, this isn't what we're looking for at all, is it Oliver?
Oliver: No sir.
Henry: No sir!
James: There is this sir, it's Private Percy's, [shows painting] he's called it "My family and other animals".
Henry: Oh, good Lord no.
James: Well, I'm afraid that's about it sir. Apart from . . . this little thing. [Show Thomas's painting]
Henry: Ah, now, that's more like it!
Oliver: Who painted this James?
James: Well actually it was I.
Thomas: Permission to speak, really quite urgently sir!
Henry: Damn and blast your goggly eyes! Will you stop interrupting, Thomas! Now, this is excellent! [Shakes James's hand] Congratulations man! It's totally inspiring, makes you want to jump over the top and yell "Yah-boo sucks to you, Festers."
James: Thank you sir.
Oliver: Are you sure you did this, James?
James: Of course I'm sure.
Oliver: I'm afraid I don't believe you.
James: How dare you Oliver!? [To Henry] You know I can't let that slur pass, sir . . . What possible low, suspicious, slanderous reasons could this "office-boy" have to think that I didn't paint the picture?
Oliver: Well, three reasons as a matter of fact. Firstly: you're in it.
James: It's a self-portrait.
Oliver: Secondly: you told us you couldn't paint.
James: Well, one doesn't want to blow one's own trumpet.
Thomas: Permission . . .
James: Denied.
Oliver: And thirdly: it's signed "Thomas."
James: [walks over to painting, looks closely at the corner] Well spotted. But not signed "Thomas," dedicated "to Thomas," Lord Thomas. Gentlemen; The Lord!
All: [snapping to attention] The Lord!
Percy: Where?
Henry: Bravo James, I have absolutely no hesitation in appointing you our official regimental artist. You're a damn fine chap, not a pen-pushing, desk-sucking, blotter-jotter like Oliver here, eh Oliver?
Oliver: No sir.
Henry: No sir! Well, accompany us back to HQ immediately.
Oliver: Attention!
[Henry and Oliver exit.]
Thomas: Permission to jolly well speak right now sir, otherwise I might just burst like a bally rat.
James: Later Thomas. Much later.
[At Headquarters.]
Henry: Congratulations on your new appointment, James.
James: Thank you sir.
Oliver: And may I say James, I'm particularly pleased about it.
James: Are you?
Oliver: [smugly] Oh Yes.
Henry: Now that you are our official war-artist, we can give you the full briefing. The fact is, James, that the "Controllers & Railways" cover story was just A.. Cover story. We want you, as our top painting bod, to leave the trenches . . .
James: Good.
Henry: Tonight . . .
James: Suits me.
Henry: And go out into no-men's-land.
James: No-man's-land.
Henry: Yeeeeeees.
James: Not Suddery.
Henry and Oliver: Noooooooo.
Henry: We want you to come back with accurate drawings of the enemy positions.
James: You want me to sit in the no-man's-land, painting pictures of the Skaries.
Henry: Precisely! Good man!
James: Well, it's a very attractive proposition, gentlemen, but unfortunately not practical. You see. My medium is light. It'll be pitch dark; I won't be able to see a thing.
Henry: Ah, hm, that is a point. I tell you what: we'll send up a couple of flares. You'll be lit up like a Christmas tree.
James: Oh, excellent, excellent, glad I checked.
[James, Percy and Thomas crawling across the no-man's-land.]
James: All right, total and utter quiet, do you understand? So for instance if any of us crawl over any barbed wire they must on no account goaaAAAAAAAAAAHH!
Percy: Have you just crawled over some barbed wire sir?
James: No Percy, I just put my elbow in a blob of ice cream.
Percy: Oh, that's all right then.
James: Now, where the Hit are we?
Thomas: Well, it's difficult to say, we appear to have crawled into an area marked with mushrooms.
James: [patiently] What do those symbols denote?
Thomas: Pfff. That we're in a field of mushrooms?
James: Lieutenant that is a military map, it is unlikely to list interesting flora and fungi. Look at the key and you'll discover that those mushrooms aren't for picking.
Thomas: Good Lord, you're quite right sir, it says "mine." So, these mushrooms must belong to the man who made the map.
James: Either that, or we're in the middle of a minefield.
Percy: Oh dear.
Thomas: So, he owns the field as well?
[Machine-guns fire.]
Thomas: [yelling] THEY'RE FIRING SIR, THEY'RE FIRING.
[The guns stop.]
James: Ah yes, thank you Lieutenant. If they hit me, you'll be sure to point it out, won't you. Now come on, get on with your drawing and let's get out of here.
Thomas: Well, surely we ought to wait for the flare sir? You see, my medium is light.
James: Just use your imagination for heavens' sake. [Thinks] Wait a minute, that's the answer. I can't believe I've been so stupid.
Percy: Yeah, that is unusual, 'cos usually I'm the stupid one.
Thomas: Well, I'm not over-furnished in the brain department.
James: Well, on this occasion I've been stupidest of all.
Thomas: Oh, now sir! I will not have that! Percy and I will always be more stupid than you. Isn't that right Percy? [Standing up] Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Percy: Yeah, [standing up also] stupidly, stupidly, stupidly.
[Flares are fired, lighting up Thomas and Percy. James cowers on the ground.]
Thomas: Stupidest stupids in the whole history of stupidity nesses.
[Machine-gun fire; Percy and Thomas jump down; the guns stop.]
James: Finished? I think the obvious point is this: we'll go straight out to the dugout and do the painting from there. You do the most imaginative, most exciting possible drawing of Skaries defences from your imagination.
Thomas: Oh I see, now that is a challenge.
James: Quite. Come on, let's get out of here.
Thomas: Oh sir, just one thing. If we should happen to tread on a mine, what do we do?
James: Well, normal procedure, Lieutenant, is to jump 200 feet into the air and scatter yourself over a wide area.
[Back at Headquarters.]
Oliver: Are you sure this is what you saw James?
James: Absolutely. I mean there may have been a few more armament factories, and [looks sideways at Thomas] not quite as many elephants, but . . .
Henry: Well, you know what this means . . .
Oliver: If it's true sir, we'll have to cancel the push.
Henry: Exactly . . .
Thomas: Damn!
James: What a nuisance . . .
Henry: ...Exactly what the enemy would expect us to do, and therefore exactly what we will not do!
James: Ah.
Henry: Now, if we attack where the line is strongest, then filth ball will think that our reconnaissance is a total shambles. This will lull him into a sense of false security, and then next week we can attack where the line is actually badly defended. And win the greatest victory since the Hackenback flower-arranging team beat Haultraugh by twelve sore bottoms to one!
James: Tell me, have you ever visited the planet Earth, sir?
Henry: So, best fighting trousers on, James!
Thomas: Permission to shout "Bravo" at an annoyingly loud volume sir?
Henry: Permission granted.
Thomas: [annoyingly loud volume] BRAVO!
Henry: That's the spirit. Just your kind of caper eh eh, James?
James: Oh yes.
Oliver: Good luck against those elephants . . .
[James and Thomas salute and leave.]
[In the dugout.]
James: Get me a chisel and some marble Percy.
Thomas: Oh, you're taking up sculpture now sir?
James: No, I thought I'd get my headstone done.
Thomas: What are you going to put on it?
James: "Here lies James, and he's bloody annoyed."
Percy: Are we going' over, are we sir?
James: Yes, we are. Unless I can think of some brilliant plan.
Percy: Would you like some "rat-au-van" to help you think? [shows James a tin plate with a very flat rat on it]
James: "Rat-au-vin?"
Percy: Yeah, its rat that's been . . .
James: [joins in]. Run over by a van. No thank you Percy. Although it gives me an idea. Telephone please.
[Headquarters, later that night. Henry and Oliver are dining.]
Oliver: I suppose James and his boys will have gone over the top by now.
Henry: Yes. God, I wish I were out there with them, dodging the bullets, instead of having to sit here drinking this chateau Lafaiete, eating this Filets Mignon in sauce Bearnaise.
Oliver: My thoughts exactly sir. Damn this Chateau Lafaiete.
Henry: He's a very brave men, James. And of course that Lieutenant of his, Thomas, Ffarquhar man you know. His uncle Bertie and I used to break wind for our college. Slightly unusual taste, this sauce Bearnaise . . .
Oliver: Yes sir, and to be quite frank, this mignon are a little . . . well . . .
Henry: What?
Oliver: Well, dingy.
Henry: What on earth's wrong with our cook?
Oliver: Well, it's a rather strange story sir.
Henry: Oh? Tell, tell.
Oliver: Well sir, I received a phone call this afternoon from Abbot Old Bean, telling me that our cook had been selected for the Crosby Cricket team and must set sail for the France immediately.
Henry: Really?
Oliver: Then a moment later, the phone rang again. It was a trio of wandering German chefs, who happened to be in the area, offering their services. So I had the quartermaster take them on at once.
Henry: Ah, hm, Hm, HM, Ah, Oh, OH! Jumping giblets! Are you sure these are real raisins in this plum-duff?
Oliver: Oh yes, I'm sure they are sir. Everything will be all right, once the cream custard arrives.
[Back in the dugout. James, Thomas and Percy enter, wearing cooks' aprons and huge black false moustaches. Percy is carrying a jug and a small cat.]
Thomas: Well all jolly good fun sir. But dash it all, we appear to have missed the big push.
James: Oh damn, so we have. One thing puzzles me Percy; how did you manage to get so much custard out of such a small cat?