Tips for the reader!

.

This story-song is based – not on the *real* Rossini opera The Barber of Seville as you might have thought,
but on a classic, immensely popular Dutch parody of the Figaro song.
To my shame I have to confess I have no idea what the original song really is called in Rossini's opera.
I only know this parody version as written by F. van Delden and performed by Tom Manders (aka Dorus) approximately half a century ago,
now then transformed to suit our favourite Heroes – I hope you'll enjoy it!

However, seeing that none of you is likely to be acquainted with the song (at least not with this version),
and seeing that the lyrics in this fanfic are interspersed with some short descriptions of what is happening 'on the stage',
I would suggest that you read through the story first – just to get an idea of what's going on.

And once you know what's going on, then it's time to turn on the music to hear the story the way it was meant to sound:
www dot youtube dot com / watch?v=RKK2FA5fn80
(and properly adjust the link due to ffnet's anti-link policy of course)
Click on 'play', and then just follow the lyrics (in bold text) along with the music.
And perhaps try and sing along? I warn you: it's not always easy,
but especially if you do know the melody, with a little practice and a lot of concentration even the fastest parts are definitely singable – I'm the living proof!

.

But now, let me present you what might well be the first attempt at marriage between Hogan's Heroes and classical opera (albeit in parody form).

Ladies and gentlemen,
straight from Hamelburg, Germany:

.

THE BARBER OF STALAG 13

.

"Now he's wearing this envelope on a string around his neck, under his shirt. You think you can get your hands on it?"

Newkirk smirked, and pushed back his cap. "Like taking a rattle off of a baby. No worries, Gov, you'll have that list in a tick." And with his hands thrust into his pockets, he sauntered off to the Kommandant's quarters.


It was a beautiful morning. Colonel Klink had noticed the moment he opened his eyes, and he rejoiced in it. A hard blue sky, the sun peeping out over the trees on the east side of camp... Yes, it promised to be an excellent day.

Humming to himself, he got up, put on his socks and pants, and went into the little bathroom to shave.

Oh! That's right. Seeing the envelope again in the mirror, he remembered the top secret information Major Teppel had left in his care the other day. Terribly important it was, the Abwehr man had emphasized. So naturally, the man had come to him for safekeeping – him, Colonel Klink, Kommandant of the toughest POW-camp in all of Germany, where no prisoner ever escaped. Could the information be safer?

But just to be on the safe side (after all, things did occasionally disappear and magically reappear from the safe in his office), he had promised to keep the information on him at all times. He just hoped it wouldn't be too long, for taking a shower would certainly hamper the legibility of the documents.

Still humming, he began to whip up some shaving cream, and as the happy sunshine began to join him in the bathroom, his voice suddenly rang out,

"Lalalalira... lalalala

Lalalalira... lalalala

Lala lalalala lala lalalala lala lalalala lala lalalalaaaaaa...

Oops!"

A blob of shaving cream went flying onto the mirror. Oh well, Frau Kalinke would be here today anyway. And covering his neck and the lower half of face with shaving cream, he sang with justified pride,

"Smart, and resourceful, intelligent, dressed in blue

Kommandant, Kommandant, Kommandant – Klink!

No, no one can possibly ever live up to you

Lalala lalala lalala – la!

Can't be so long now till you'll be a general

A powerful general

For as a Kommandant

You are the best, simply the best!"

The cream on his face actually gave him some inspiration.

"Oh Kommandant, you are simply the crème de la crè-ème

Lalala lalala lalala – la!

Never a single escape from your prison camp

Lalala lalala lalala – la!"

His face was loaded with cream now, but he was having such fun – he couldn't resist the temptation to continue a little longer.

"From all the other Stalags – escapes, escapes, escapes!

Running back to Britain, or even back to the States

Back to the States, back to the States, back to the States, back to the States!"

He grinned wickedly. No, not wickedly – smugly was the word.

"When that old geezer

Who calls himself general

Finally chokes on his black caviar

I will be promoted

And I'll be a general

Known for my discipline wide and afar

Tralala lalala lalala lalala lalala lalala laaa!"

And he crowed happily,

"And when that day comes

I will order that Hochstetter

To wipe the floor

Of the Kommandantur

While I go on holiday

With Fräulein Helga

And stay at the Ritz

On the Côte de Azur."

Suddenly he jumped, as a voice unexpectedly joined in.

"You're dreaming, Kommandant

You're bloody dreaming!"

It was Newkirk, standing outside the window shaking his head. But he didn't remain where he was – with an agile jump he was up on the window-sill, and before the Kommandant could open his mouth to protest or call for the guards, the Englishman stood next to him in his private bathroom, picking up his razor blade and singing,

"Let me assist you

Here with your shaving

No protestations!

Shaving is my profession

I am a barber

Tralalaaaa lalala lalala lalala lalala lalala lalala lalala lalalalalaaa

Tralalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatchoo!"

"Gesundheit," the Kommandant said automatically.

"Danke," was Newkirk's reply as he produced a giant red handkerchief to blow his nose before continuing,

"First take care of the sneezing

Or else 'twill end in a drama

A bloo-oody drama..."

The Kommandant flinched, making Newkirk chuckle.

"Oh, my dear Kommandant

Don't be afraid, don't be afraid."

He pushed him down on a stool, picked up a towel and began the shaving job under a stream of inconsequential prattle as barbers do.

"There's no need to worry

Or get in a flurry

I won't hit or strike you

Not even to spite you

And I need not mention

That if I should kill you..."

Another flinch of Klink's almost made this line come true...

"I cannot appeal to

The Geneva Convention

The Governor says

He won't try intervention

If we are too stupid

To pay some attention

So that's what I do

In this hullabaloo

And I hope you will, too!

Hey Kommandant!"

Had he dozed off now – in the middle of a shave?

"Kommandant?"

Perhaps this was too much prattle then. Oh well, piece of pie to get that envelope then, as Andrew would say.

"Kommandant? Tickledee tickledee tickledee tickledee tickledee..." No, clearly he wasn't ticklish.

But at that moment the camp cat chose to wander into the bathroom, instantly diverting Newkirk's attention.

"Kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty-cat

Looking for mice, are you, kitty-cat?"

He pointed at the dozing Kommandant and bellowed,

"Here is one!"

The man shocked back into consciousness – and of course lost his bloody monocle.

"My eye–, my –glass

My monocle is gone!

Now how did that happen?

Hey you! Now where did it go?

You sneak! Petty thief!

This is no prank!

Oh, nobody leave here

Nobody breathe here

Nobody move here

My monocle's gone!"

Newkirk held up his hands in innocence.

"Hey Kommandant, don't get upset!

Hey Kommandant, do watch your step

Look, Kommandant, here

Look, Kommandant, there

Look, Kommandant, si

Look, Kommandant, so

And look at the floor

I said it before

'Cause there is your monocle!

Ain't that the pinnacle?

Look who just smashed it!

Totally crashed it!

You, my dear Kommandant

Made it kaput!

Really kaput! Really kaput! Really kaput! Really kaput!"

Klink dived for it, but Newkirk was right – the little eyepiece was in a thousand little splinters. He clenched it in his hand before shaking his fist at his impromptu barber.

"This is impossible!

Highly improbable!

Mighty intolerable!

Not even plausible!

This is the seventy-fifth

That got broken

Or are we yet

At seventy-six?

Really, I have had enough now

Let me show you how a tough one

Deals with crooks

And thiefs and vandals:

Out of my sight!

And better be quick!"

Fuming, he pointed to the door, and Newkirk bristled,

"Is this the thanks I get

For giving you a shave?

Then let me wish you that

Your shaving soap

Will soon explode –

Or so I hope!"

Klink's hands flew to his still foam covered cheeks. Hm... He should speak to Carter about that. Might make a nice diversion one day. But first...

"Heil Kraut! Farewell!"

And with that, he took his exit through the window again, leaving the Kommandant to stew in his own juice.


"Here you are, Governor. As I said, like taking a rattle off of a bubblehead."

.

.

The End