Victoria University College. Extravaganza. "The Seven Year Switch." June 4 - 9, 1956.Victoria University College. Extravaganza. "The Seven Year Switch." June 4 - 9, 1956.[electronic resource]Creation of machine-readable versionKeyboarded by KiwiTechCreation of digital imagesKiwiTechConversion to TEI-conformant markupKiwiTechca. 64 kilobytesVictoria University of Wellington LibraryWellingtonModern English,
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2016Victoria University College. Extravaganza. "The Seven Year Switch." June 4 - 9, 1956.Victoria University College Students' AssociationWellington4th-9th June 1956Source copy consulted: Victoria University of Wellington Library, JC Beaglehole Room, LG741 V C28873918Carnival
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NZETC Subject Headings1956EnglishLiterature
The Seven Year Switch
or
Thanks for the Misery
Script by IAN RICH with additional lyrics by John Sadleir, Jim Hutchison, Ben Goffman, Patsy Lawson, Diane Spurdle, Tony Ferrers, Rosemary Lovegrove, Ted Schroder and Dennis Brown
Production staged byIan RichAssistant ProducerTed WoodfieldMusicGarth YoungMake-upJohn TreadwellChief Make-up AssistantBurnett RossBallet NumbersJoy PaytonMale Ballet ControllerJohn MarchantTechnical AdviserHuddy WillamsonStage ManagerLawrence ChrichtonProps ManagerBill HarrisonBallet MistressJoy PaytonWardrobe MistressNoeline JohnstonePromptShona GaleSteering CommitteeIan Rich (Chairman), Bill Sheat, Bernard Galvin, Guy Powles, and Jim Hutchison
Yep, when this year's Extrav. hits the boards of the old Opera House Saloon the Wild West will have arrived good and proper in little old Kiwi County. Direct from the hard-shooting men, hard-drinking women and hard-bitumised streets of Double-Cross Creek, Texas, comes hard-bitten Sheriff Arnett and his owlhooting offsider Bigfoot, with a couple of ornery buzzards called Krushy and Bulgy, to make a real live Western movie set in the old ghost town of Wellington.
Why hev they come? Pardner, you may well ask that question. You see onother ornery buzzard, Stick-up Holland, has gotten hisself into a mighty big heap of trouble with the local boys through his trying to muscle in on the Roxburgh Ranch power racket and they weren't going to stand for any of that kind of nonsense. So Sid was hustled out of the County and he went West hoping to get some help for a film he wants to make which he reckons is going to set him up as Chief Sheriff of the County once agin. But he hadn't reckoned on crossin Water pistoils with another couple of ornery buzzards—Gambling Gaylord Owen and his crooked galfriend Salvation Sally (ex-wife of the Sheriff) who were planning to hitch up reins with Brutus Holybeach and all the other ornery buzzards with the intention of running Sid straight out on a one-way trip to Boothill and taking over the County themselves.
Wal pordner, don't think that is the end of the dirty doings. Now Stick-up Sid used to be a mighty weak speciman of the human species but a little body carving by a couple of local quacks transforms him into a pretty big hunk of man and he rip-snorts off on a career of crime unequalled in any country this side of the Mason-Dixon. Things really start humming along—Sid hitches up with Fanny Arnett (Sweet F.A. to you), the Sheriff's daughter and a lot of mighty perculiar events occur before law and order is restored in Kiwi County.
Yep folks, if you came here for a quiet night of relaxation you'd better saddle up and head for the homestead becos when the boys ride out of the sun head in yur direction—watch out for flying bullets. So hold onto your seats and git ready for the show that will make High Noon look like yur Twelve O'clock shadow!
A Song to Start the ShowMac and Chorus—
The show has just about begun,A show that's full of good clean funFor you see Extravaganza's here.Students are on the stage once moreSongs and dances by the scoreFor you see Extravaganza's here.What a show boys, what a show!!!Seems there's nothing that they don't know!!!Brilliant scenes and witty gagsOnly trouble is it dragsAnd the jokes get lost in clouds of beer, 'ereYou see, Extravaganza's here.
Another, to Make SureThe Cast—Another opening, another showExtravaganza is set to go,A chance for students to say 'hello'Another opening of another show.Another show that you hope is fast,Will make your future forget your pastWill make you laugh with jokes so low,Another opening of another show.Extravaganza is about to start.We cross our fingers, and hold our heartsThe curtain's up so away we go,Another opening of another show,Another opening of another show.
Members of the OrchestraRhythm SectionDrums: Noel BaconPiano: Aileen ClaridgeBass: Denny BrownStringsPeter LattimerAlec BonnettMurray KellyKeith WalkerBrass
Trumpets: John Mahn
Alan Henderson
Fred Hoffman
Trombone: Denny MahnReeds
Altos: Rod Giddens
Barry Miles
Tenors: Bill Hammond
Keith Field
Baritone: Ray Pomeroy
Lyrics from the Show
Act 1
Sc. 1A Western Saloon
I'm the SmartestSheriff Arnett—
Oh the roughenest, toughenest, cussn'est Sheriff am II'm slicker on the licker than a digger when he's riding highWhen I get dry start reach for your doughSet' em up Joe, set 'em up Joe, set 'em up Joe.I prime any crime worth a dime with the inside genAnd profit in the pocket when they cough it orI clap 'em in the penThere they can stay till I get my wayYippee-i-ay, yippee-i-ay, yippee-i-ay!When Rustlers rouse my spleen and I get keenKnow that I will getchaThat's unless you fetcha me the drink, GinkI'm the rootenest tootenest lootenest outlaw crewI'm hot as a shot and I pop 'em off fast'n youThis last on the drawI get 'em for sure.Chorus—
Hell a bore! Hell what a bore! Hell what a bore!
Bemused, Backward and BefuddledSid—I'm a fool and don't I know itSidney Holland is my name.I'm a dope and don't I show itLacking mind and brain.Failure is a new sensationI've done pretty well I thinkSo this bloody revolution puts me on the brink.I'm mild againBeguiled againA whimpering simpering child againBewitched, bothered and bewildered am IThey're vaxed again,Perplaxed againThey say that they're overtaxed againBewitched, bothered and bewildered are they.Lost support and I hate itMy mistake I agreeOffer help and I'll take itAlas! the blame's on me.I'll hate to see.Them take from meAnd replace the homburg that clings to meBewitched bothered and bewildered am I.
Sweet Fanny ArnettFanny—
Oh, the gods made me wiry, made me firy and hot;And my belly is strengthened with lead.Give me rum and some whisky and I'll never get shot,But sprout gin-soaked whiskers instead.I'm sharp as a cactus,In sin I don't need practice,And I flirt like the Mae Wests do.Strip right down to my girdle.Convention ain't no hurdle—I'm the Hot in the Heat of the West.I lack social know-howsThe toothpaste, soap and towels,And I ain't had a shower in yearsWhiskey's my lubrication,I won't need vacination.I'm the Hot in the Heat of West.I know all about them.The rules and how to flout themAlcohol and the facts of life.Give me whisky and waterI'll not do what I oughtaI'm the Hot in the Heat of West.
Respectable CountryChorus—
Roll out the barrelLets have a barrel of rum,Sing a rousing carol—There's really no need to feel glum,Whatever your apparelFrom whatever country you comeRoll out the barrelLets have a barrel of rum.Sheriff—
None of this behaviour from now on. We are going to New Zealand—a respectable country.Crook—
Lets milk the moasLets drink the cup of stale beerDig the toheroas,Slaughter the kaka and kea,Do not let them show usThe lead in a drinkin's affray—Lets milk the moasAnd banish our trouble today.
New Zealand here we Come!Sheriff—
Where'm I goin' I don't knowWhere'm I headin', I ain't certainAll I know is I am on my way,When will we be there, we don't knowWhen will we get there, we ain't certain.All we know is we are on our way.Got a dream boy?Got a song,Grab your girlieAnd come along!Where'm we goin', we don't knowWhen will we get there, we ain't certain.What will we get, we ain't equipped to say.But who gives a dam' . . .We're on our way!
—And don't Say we didn't Warn youYippy ay, as we go from the West,Look-a-hoy, here we come, old N.Z.Yippy ay, as we go from the WestHave some fun, with a gun, knock 'em dead.Give them a quid, with our love to old SidOr a homburg for his head.Till we meet once again "All the Best"Yippy ay, as we go from the west!
A Song to End the Act
Sid and Chorus—
This film will save our country from a slump (From a slump, from a slump)We're in the clear (no you're not, no you're not)We'll have free beer (You'll get shot, you'll get shot)Old N.Z. will be no more a lousy dump (a lousy dump, a lousy dump)A land of milk and honeyLots of moneyL. S. D.L. S. D.Wow!No more austerityWe'll have prosperitySufficient L. S. D.For all our needs.We'll build ourselves a paradiseGod's own country will be niceHipoorah for New Zealand.
Sc. 2 The South Pole
Things my Daughter Taught meSally—I'm a maiden sweet and pure,And in spite of my allure,When a guy decides to try I cry 'No, no!''Cause I remember all the things my daughter taught me,And believe me honey . . . Fanny ought to know!O I don't believe in sin;I take water with my gin;When they pass the whiskey flask I cry 'No, no!'Cause I remember, etc . . .When a Texas oil magnate,Comes to ask me for a date,If the bore begins to paw, I cry 'No, no!'Cause I remember, etc . . .When a Boston millionaireRuns his fingers through my hairIf the cash begins to pash I cry 'No, no!'Cause I remember, etc . . .When a noble English peerStarts to whisper in my ear,If Debrett begins to pet I cry 'No, no!'Cause I remember all, etc . . .When a Yankee from up in MaineTries to ruin my good name,To this Yankee hanky panky I cry No, no!Cause I remember all, etc . . .
Party SolidarityWol—Down by Parl - i - ment,Where I first met you,Waving Bloomers newOr a reddish hue,It was there I knewThat you loved me true,Some sixteen stone,All fat, no bone,Down by the Parl - i - ment.
Comrade Bulganin and Comrade KB. O Comrade Kruschev, O Comrade KruschevDon't you think this bunch is very bourgeoisie?Don't you find them very flat, very proletariat,Don't you feel that they're not quite our cup of teaK. Comrade Bulganin, Comrade Bulganin,Please remember that they've asked us out to stayThough we may not like their viewsWe can still knock back their boozeAren't I right Comrade Bulganin?B. Aren't you always Comrade K.?Kruschev—
Comrade Bulganin, Comrade Bulganin,Please remember that we must be polite.Tho' we may not like these ratsWe must smile and doff our hatsAnd pretend the East and West can now unite.Bulganin—
O Comrade Kruschev, O Comrade Kruschev,With all you say you know I will agree.You're much smarter than the best of the leaders in the WestAren't I right dear Comrade Kruschev?Kruschev—
Aren't you always Comrade B.!Bulganin—
O Comrade Kruschev, O Comrade Kruschev,Aren't you ever worried in these trips out West—The booing mixed with cheers is most baffling to my earsAnd I'm always glad I brought my bomb-proof vest.Kruschev—
Comrade Bulganin, Comrade Bulganin.Don't be worried by the way this rabble bray—They can never do us inFor we're charmed like RasputinAren't I right Comrade Bulganin?Bulganin—
Aren't you always Comrade K.?Kruschev—
Comrade Bulganin, Comrade Bulgain,If you're drinking vodka please don't be too swift.For you're not a pretty sight when you're absolutely tightAnd you're quite a weight for the poor guards to lift.Bulganin—
O Comrade Kruschev, O Comrade Kruschev,Surely we can have a little jollityAnd women song and wineIs the perfect party line—Aren't I right dear Comrade Kruschev?Kruschev—
... I'll let you know Comrade B.
Party LineGaylord and CrooksO ye'll take the Marx line, and I'll take the Red Line,And we'll be in cabinet together,Then me and my comrades will justify our acts,With the empty, empty words of Homburgers.The importers groan, the retailers moan,'Cos the banks squeeze tight for no reason,So me and my comrades will socialise the Land,And jail all the Tories for treason.ChorusThe prices are rising, the costs are increasing,The wages have dropt with a thump,So me and my comrades will subsidise their fateWith a bonnie bonnie gift of a slump.The mauve of National, the pink of LabourWill change to a shade of bright red,Yes, me and my comrades will Leninise the landAnd govern the place from our beds.
Sc. 3 Miramar Film Studios
SlushSlushSlushTechnicians—
The Lion of Metro, the searchlights of Fox,The studios who cut their overdrafts,The Chaplins, the Crosbys, Keystone the CopsThe Skeltons who exhort us all to laugh.The Heavies that enthrall us when they thump.The Weepies that render our throats a lump.There's no business like film businessLike no business we knowEverything about it is so coarso.Everything the censors will allowNowhere can you get that naked torso,It's Marlon Brando's—sweat on his brow.There's no people like film people,They wed when they are low.Always with a shocker they can earn their crust,Fill it with lust, Marilyn's bustOr handle out that stuff they call blood and gutsLets go on with the show,Lets go on with the show.
Fanny Again!Fanny—
I've come across the oceanTo play female lead for youI've played for Leo time and time again.I've heard a lot of stories and I reckon that they're trueAbout New Zealand's hordes of surplus men.I reckon I can teach them quite a lotAbout the assets that a girl has got . . .I'm Fanny from the wild wild WestMen say I'm nice but I'm not.For at a dance or far fetched festI show them all that I have got.When a feller tries to cuddle meConvention say I give his face a slap!But when his moustache tickles meI somehow sorta wanta tickle back!Some guys have whispered lets get wed,Let's buy a ring and a bed,But when my appetite's fedI shoot the poor critter deadI can't say no!
Just an Old SuspectituteSid-New Zealand's youth they often say is always on the spreeThe finger of suspicion points at meJuvenile delinquency, immoral she and he,The finger of suspicion points at meBut as soon as they can make the guilty ones confessI know exactly what I'm gonna be—I'll become the kind old man and hold them on my kneesAnd subtly set their inhibition free.And subtly set their inhibition free.Sid and Chorus—
I'll sell myself for Business but only for a feeThe finger of supicion points at me.They say I'll do my level best to stifle industryThe finger of suspicion points at me.But as soon as they can make the profit ones confessI'll tell you what I'm going to doI'll open up a boom, conceal it with a slumpAnd private enterprise, I'll set it free-ee-eeAnd private enterprise, I'll set it free.
It's all so too, too, tooCrooks—
5 Arty-crafty artists, arty-crafty artists, arty as can beWe waste our time on the wherefores and whys of it,We like art and that's about the size of it,People say that art demoralises use, lead us to a life of shame,Learned critics try to criticise us, psycho-analyse us,Darlings what a game! They don't know Coward taught usSo their quips distraught usHurt us through and through.When they say "go low brow,"We have got the know-how.We are artists true.
The Cast(in order of appearance from one end to the next.)
MacJohn ArchibaldBod OneLawrence AtkinsonBod TwoPaul CanhamSheriff ArnettTed WoodfieldBig footDavy CrookettWife the FirstJanet CourtBartenderLawrence AtkinsonSidDennis Brown againVoice BehindTony ShelleyHolybugGraeme EtonMabelWendy BarretMessengerJohn FowlerFannyRosemary LovegroveGaylord OwenDes DeaconSally, or Wife the SecondSylvienne CockburnGeorgie PeorgieTed SchroderBulganinTony FerrersKruschevRon PolsonMountaineerBryce EvansDirectorMichael NicolaidiEliaJohn ArchibaldJoeJohn GambyJoseph L.John DawickNgaio DrongoCarole CharlesMayorTerry CorbetCameramanTerry ShelleyClapper BoyLawrence AtkinsonHospital EntertainersDerek Homewood & Tony FerrersDoctorPaul CanhamAssistant DoctorJohn ArchibaldBedsteadChris AustinCouncillorsRussel Bell, Tom Steiner, Byron Callingham, John FowlerGagged DoctorJohn GambyAnnouncerLawrence AtkinsonLecturerJohn DawickSir Clifton WubbJohn ArchibaldAnnouncer, U.S.A.Ron PoisonWorkmensee Councillors, believe it or notFarmer and GirlHeather Scott and Michael NicolaidiStudentsDiana Spurdle, Patsy Lawson, Terry Corbett and Elliot Henderson
Learnin' to BoozeKruschev—
You drink your first vodka,You down your first whiskyYour mind starts to wanderAnd feel kind of friskyWhen drink touches your lipsWhatever you chooseYou've had your first lessonIn learnin' to booze.Six dry martinisWith gin squash to followYou start to enjoy itYou feel yourself wallow,You're under the tableMaking love with your shoesYou don't need a lessonIn learnin' to booze.You see a pink objectYou legs start to quiverYour mind starts to boggleYour bones start to shiverYou've got the dry horrorsYour stomach feels blue.You've had your last lessonIn learnin' to booze.Chorus—
You're feeling good just like you shouldBecause quite suddenly you find,That when you're drunk as any skunkYou leave those deadly blues behind.
Little-Things-Mean-A-Lott-ErySheriff ArnettGive them relief from sales tax demands, give them Chryslers and large yachts.Give them all the cash that they wantLittle things mean a lotGive them free beer and licence all pubs, close them at 10 on the dotGive them your arm when they start to swayLittle things mean a lot.You'll have to give pens'ners some more, wharfies miners and such,They never cared much for drudgery and workBut constantly Sidney, they must have moneyGive them compo for the kids they've gotTen bob a week to rely on,But if they lack the large offspring, give themyour mattress to try on.Send them a cheque for a hundred pounds to show them you haven't forgot.For voteship forever, pamper forever,Little things mean a lot.
Sid's Big NightSheriff and Elia—
It was Walter Nash versus Sydney Hol, in the springtime of '54There was lots of speculation at the poll, whether Syd would be out the door;But the Labour Party did not have much hope, they were ready to say goodbye,And while poor old Walter handed out soft soap, he could hear the people cry;Chorus—
C'mon Syd,C'mon Syd,We've voted for you with all our might;C'mon Syd,C'mon Syd,And thanks to all those voters it was Syd's big night.Now Social Credit had a lot of nerve, with a stander in every spot;They got a lot more votes than they did deserve, but elected they were not.Walter made a final desperate bid, to have all the vote slips mixedBut a far more cunning move was made by Sid— he had all the boundaries fixed.C'mon Syd,C'mon Syd,They voted for him with all their might;C'mon Syd,C'mon Syd,And thanks to all those voters it was Syd's big night.
Act II
Sc. 1The Parliamentary Ward, Public Hospital
HypodermichondriacsNurse and M.P.'s—
Oh! the Wellington Public HospitalIs where you see us now;In an atmosphere of morphineAnd hypodermics; Ow!But the nurses are so prettySo happy, gay and free,That the Wellington Public HospitalIs where we like to be.Oh! the Wellington Public HospitalIs such a happy place;We eat and sleep and loll about,A smile on every face;But when it's time for visiting,We all hop into bed;If you see us there at other times,It simply means we're dead.Oh! the patients all are virile,The nurses all are cute,And as for regulations,No one really gives a hootThere may be one or two of us,Who seem a bit distressed,But the Wellington Public HospitalIs easily the best.
If I Only had a BrainWol—I'd be able to do justiceTo wharfies and railway workersWho are driving me insane.I'd draft some Regulations,To hasten their cremations—If I only had brain!When with problems I am grapplin'I'll not be like Charlie Chaplin—Solutions would be plain;I'd liquidate the Tories,If I only had a brain!If they could use me I would go to war,On my cash mounted as a yore,I'd smash the National line and then some more—I'd startle populations,With new-found imprecations,I'd be myself again;If my moustache were littlerI could be another Hitler—If I only had a brain!
Male Ballet
Tom GarlandJohn RogersPeter ChamberlainRichard RawnsleyB. ChapmanGraham HitchTony RossRichard Heine
Gravitas, Simplicitas, AdulteryThe CouncillorsComing with a fatherly air,With the Old Gray Mayor in the chair;We are all in accord,With our trust in the Lord,Coming in with a fatherly air.Coming in with a fatherly air,For our fair city's burdens we bear;And whenever we meetHow we bluster and bleat!Coming in with a fatherly air.Yippy ayWe're awayWe'll distribute lots of bull's wool here today!Coming in with a fatherly air;Our meeting is a fatuous affair;As we rollick and rompWith municipal pomp,Coming in with a fatherly air.
Sc. 2Director's Office
Lady Scotch that SnakeFanny—
I guess you wonder why I'm hereTogged up like Lady GwinevereBut control your desire to curseOr I'll sing you something worseThe tale I'll tell you you've heard before'Bout a worthy Scottish thane to whom I'm squawI'm a nasty bit of workAnd I got myself tangled up with a jerkA guy named McBethMixed up in a deathWho said that crime don't payTake it away!That which made them drunk hath made me boldIt's a royal session and I won't be toldIt's adversity, it's calamity, it's catastrophe!The multitudinous seas incarnadineBut I hear a knocking somewhere down the lineAt the west gate, at the east gate, at the south gate.Most times like this I have a side kick who'll do all the workBut for this job the guy decided to shirkIf you've ever heard alarms of the Royal Duncan and the Thane of GlamisIt's a mystery, it's a historyIt's a flagrant tale of a vagrant maleIt's disruption, it's destructionOf an escutcheon.
Unhappy DayWe are the littlemen;We're not used to shocks;We work in offices,The schools and the docks; Unhappy dayWhen Sydney become our P.M.We are the average man,The man on the street;No matter how we try,We just can't make ends meet;Unhappy day,When Sydney became our P.M.How we remember,November, '54'When Sydney promised usOur pay would be more,Unhappy etc . . .But we soon realised,His stories were tall,'Cause now it seems to us thatWe don't get paid at all;Unhappy . . . etc . . .We'd like to strike,But we wouldn't have a show;We haven't got the timeAnd we haven't got the dough,Unhappy . . . etc . . .Now Sydney's boss,And its gone to his head;So we've decided thatWe might as well be dead;Unhappy day,When Sydney became our P.M.
Sc. 3by the New Town Hall
Just A Titled CommonerSir Clifton Wubb—
I'm tired of lords and ladiesAnd I wish that they'd all go to HadesThey've got so much more than me.I'm tired of meeting judgesAnd the reason for my simple grudge isI'm just a common Q.C.I hate my social standingFor though I'm always politeNo lord likes to be seen standingWith a common Knight.I'm tired of morning teasCan't balance cups upon my knobbly kneesI'm just a common Q.C.I'm- tired giving addressesIn honour of brilliant soldiers or professorsThey've got so much more than me.I'm tired of VarsitiesFor none of them will give me honorary degreesI'm just a common Q.C.I hate the lawn at AscotWith all its regal toneFor though I don't think I'm a gass-potI always walk alone.I'm tired of all State luncheonsFor I hear people saying "see that bumpkin?"He's just a common Q.C.
AnthemChorus—
There'll always be New Zealand where hotels close at six,Wherever parties go on all nightWhere gin and beer are mixedThere'll always be New ZealandWhile there's a TABReveal the spirit of our men,Who worship the gee-gee.The Football fieldInspired our men of oldPlayers who gave our land a name, none dare defame.Our ParliamentMillions of quid are spentBetting on hacksCash that it lacksGathered by taxThere'll always be New ZealandThe Reds across the seaWhile Sidney rules this land you'll seeAll teeth and pills are free.The Whisky flowing free.
The Tories FlagChorus—
The Tories flag is brightest blue,It costs a quid so buy a few,With workers kept beneath our thumb,It represents unearned income.Then raise the purple banner high,Our profits soon will reach the sky,Though slaves revolt and labour rants,We're the boss and we wear the pants.
Teddy Boys' PicnicCrooks—
We are the local Teddy BoysIn Wellington we're rifeAnd in our pockets you will findA bike chain or a knife.Floridee, etc.A bike chain or a knife.If you go round the town today, you're due for a big surpriseFor there we are in a fine array, all milling around like fliesWe're there for everyone to see, dressed like beaus of Regency,And in and out we strut about like peacocks.Chorus—
People call us Teddy Boys,What's in a name, they'd smell the same if they were Teddy BoysThough some think our clothes are oddThey must declare we wave our hair like any Grecian god,And we just like simple joysFor we've been simple all our very simple livesWith razors, chains, coshes and knivesWe're children playing with toys,For we are childish Teddy Boys.
Turning Over NicelySid—The girl that I marry will have to beA perfect mechanical entityThe girl I call my ownWill be radioactive and smell of ozone.Her dome will be polished.Her torso squareAnd highly resistant to wear and tearWith her motor ticking steadyWhen I want her she'll always be readyI won't have to please herJust oil her and grease herEach day.
Sixteen in the PoundWorkers—
The law says a man must pay up his whackIf he's earned ten bob then some must be taxed,You're health costs a lot so pay up and smileIf you want to wake up that old liver bile.Chorus—
You take the Tee Ay Bee, what do they payIf the favourite comes home then nothing but hay,Sir Sidney don't call me because of these facts,We owe our dough to the Income Tax.Workers—
I was born one day in a hospital bedThe nurse came along from the Plunket, she saidIts time for your meal but before you dineYou get a stiff shot of our number nine.Chorus—
You take the Tee Ay Bee etc.
Of Cleanliness and GodlinessChorus—
Land of soap and waterFather's washing his feet,Mother's painting her toenailsAnd singing the baby to sleep.Grandma's pressing her nightdressYoung Sue's in the family wayThe whole place is now a right messOh what a glorious lay.The whole place is now in aright messOh what a glorious day.
This is us GoingSid—Politics no longer give me a thrillIn fact they make me ill.Wol—Me too.Sid—I'm sick and tired of papers misreporting meCartoons distorting me.Wol—Me too.Sid—
I'd much prefer to lead a private life againI'd be so happy then.Wol—Me too.Sid—Winston Churchill did it, why not me?Wol—
I'd prefer to follow Clem AttleeI have never felt well in Bellamy'sAcid drops and milk-shakes both makes me. wheezeI prefer the Valley airThe wholesome smell of Strand ParkIt's a perfect haven thereEspecially just after dark.Sid—I have got all I want in CanterburySitting around on my chuff's the stuff for meI'm a vultureFor agricultureA cocky's life's my desire.Both—
Oh, how pleasant 'twould be if we retire.
You Heard Us—overChorus—
Extravaganza now is over;Extravaganza now is done;And whoever you may be,We really hope you will agree,That this years Extravaganza has been fun.Extravaganza now is over;Extravaganza '56And we hope it won't be deemedA sin, if now and then we seemedTo behaving like a pack of lunatics.Extravaganza now is over;We're sorry you found the show so dear;If you think you're out of pocket,Why not take the seat and hock it,But be sure to get it back for us next year.
More ConcernedHand. Props :ROSS RUSSELLCall Boys:Beverley MajorJane OliverAcknowledgements:Witcombe and Caldwell, The Sports Depot.Pallo Engineering.Mr. J. McKenna for his help in staging.Mr. W. Conroy for scene painting.Production Services for advertising.Make-up Controller:John TreadwellChief Make-up Assistant:
Burnett Rossassisted by a Adrian Sirett and a large galaxy ofFlesh Painters
Act II Sc. 1
Chorus for "The Wellington Public Hospital"Jeannette KingWendy JeuneMargot MillerMary DouglasNancy FalconerValerie MackayMargaret BlackHelen EdgarShirley JamesCherry BlossomSharon ThompsonJohn PhillpottsElliot HendersonDerek LevettTerry GovenlockRaoul KetkoChris AustinHamish KittowLawrence AtkinsonMike DodsonTony DowlingM.P.'s LabourTony DowlingMike DodsonJohn PhillpottsTerry GovenlockNationalChris Austin (Dean Eyre)Raoul KetkoLawrence AtkinsonHamish KittowThe Nurse behind the ScrcenMary DouglasAttendant on Sid's TrolleyDerek LevettThe Old Grey MayorTerry GovenlockMike Dodson
Thanks to Barbara Haldane and Shona Gale for typing the script.
The Producer wishes to thank Derek Homewood for valuable help with chorus movement.
Absolute FinaleChorus—
It's over now, we'll take a bowFor we really think it's been a wowOur latest Extravaganza.What fun and games, but what a shameYou'll have to wait a year to see the sameOur latest Extravaganza.Though some think we're impossibleStill they'll all have to learnNo amount of idle gossip'llEver stop our return.It's over now, we'll take a bow.For we really think it's been a wowOur latest Extravaganza.