Les Johnson, Norman Weedall (ns)
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Being asked to change the venue within ten minutes of arriving at the place was so
outrageous - if the Manchester boys had come in during it they'd never have believed
us and there would have been a pitched battle - that we just clutched our
glasses tighter and indicated that we "no speakee Mancunian!" The manager
went off, looking bewildered. It was good practice for him, seeing what was
coming later.
I couldn't even finish the drink in peace. I got involved with Walt Gillings, Ken Bulmer
and a couple of current pro-eds in a discussion about some uninteresting damn thing like
"science-fiction - whither?", or "science-fiction - how much?"... I forget, because James
White and Bob Shaw drifted into the lounge and sat there gaping at me, so I excused myself
by saying I only wrote for trufanzines and the slicks and lurched across to them. They said
someone was looking for me, but it was only Walt or Chuck, so I left them the glass and went to
dinner with someone - oh yes, it was Ken and Pam Bulmer - because I remember Pam saying she'd
laddered her nylons seven times already and I thought this was fast going even for a convention,
but anyway we wont to dinner and the waitress gave us a dirty look - Manchester had so many of
them to give away - but we left her a good tip - a quotecard under the plate reading THE POO IS
MIGHTIER THAN THE YOBBER - and went back to the Grosvenor.
WALT WILLIS:
When we got back we were told that the Convention
Hall had been moved from the First Floor to the Ground Floor. I assumed at first that the
Manager had been warned about sf conventions and had decided to move the Hall down a floor
before this took place in the normal course of events, but in fact it turned out that his
ignorance of Conventions was so blissful that he was only worried about his newly decorated
walls being disfigured with cellotaped notices. He didn't seem to realise how lucky he was
he still had walls. At any previous Convention the notices would have been fixed on with
thumbtacks, nails or even daggers.
The eventual con hall - Vince Clarke at left (eb)
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However the gentlemanly Manchester fans had spent the entire lunch break moving everything
from one hall to another, and were still running around in little circles uttering plaintive
cries. My heart bled for them, and for future Convention Committees. This was another Mancon
'first'. Many terrible things have happened to Convention Committees, but having to move to
another Hall in the middle of the Convention is a new and ghastly weapon in the armoury of
Fate.
DAVE NEWMAN:
On our arrival back at the hotel I found that the rest of the London convoy, with the exception of
Bert Campbell, had arrived and that the convention as a whole had apparently departed. It was only
while I was searching around for somewhere to quench my thirst that I found that some genius had
had a brainstorm and moved the convention hall to a place immediately adjacent to what was, I believe,
the hotel's lounge bar. This was an excellent thing as the drink was dispensed by a team of waitresses
which obviated the distressing necessity of having to get up and get the stuff oneself.
WALT WILLIS:
Among the exhibits now on display was a full-size water-closet marked "Vargo Statten" and a
roll of toilet paper with the same marking fixed to a placard reading "Cause & Cure." I took
this to be another courteous London Circle gesture to the Guest of Honour on the lines of
the "International Fantasy Award" they'd proposed to give him----a tiny gallows---but they
and everyone else I asked disclaimed responsibility. I'd like to have been there when Vargo
saw it---I wonder if he'd have been flushed.
After some more apologies, including one for the number of apologies, the afternoon sessions
started a mere 55 minutes late. The first item was billed as 'a talk on radio-activity by
Frank Simpson'. Most of us owe Frank an apology for not realising this was a sublimated
thiotimoline type of hoax, but there was an excuse. The first stages of a Convention--in fact
probably any stage of a Convention--is not the proper atmosphere for this rarefied type of
humour.
Frank Simpson (eb)
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Poor Frank lost most of his audience during his deadpan introduction, while he was
still waxing enthusiastic about the table of elements. Norman Wansborough walked out in disgust,
but the restiveness of the others manifested itself in another Mancon 'first'----the passing of
notes among the audience containing interlineation-type quotes and comments. I'm not sure whether
it was Ken Potter or myself who started this, but the inspiration was probably Vince Clarke's
'quotecards'---small pieces of pasteboard bearing fannish messages which circulated all during
the Convention. There were a thousand of them, with 100 different messages. Later Chuck Harris
took to handing them gravely to passers-by in the street, sometimes with a muttered "Ghod bless
you, Sir" and sometimes with a glance up and down the street and a finger pressed to the mouth.
The rest of us lagged behind watching the victim's reaction to such items of information as
"I HAD A POCTSARCD FROM GHOD THIS MORNING--Hyphen or "BLOODY PROVINCIALS". While we were walking
around the square one evening he gave one to an old man sitting on some steps and the expression
on the recipient's face was so peculiar that we had to run after Chuck and find out what the card
had said. It had been "DEFY THE DEROES WITH DIANETICS --Redd Boggs."
Another made a wonderfully appropriate appearance at the Chinese restaurant where we had lunch,
just as our orders had arrived and we were staring at them in a wild surmise. It was "IF YOU
DON'T WANT CROTTLED CREEPS, WHAT DID YOU ORDER THEM FOR? -- Filler." We left this one tucked
inside the cellophane cover of the menu.
The Medway Group's Brian Lewis and Tony Thorne (eb)
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After a monologue by Geoff Lewis which went over very well in parts (the parts nearest the
speaker) we had the Medway Group's offering. It suffered not only from the continued defection
of the public address system but from the fact that the script and timing weren't adequately
adapted to the slower reaction time of a large audience. As last year Tony Thorne was reduced
to asking ruefully "Did anyone see that gag?" and it was no comfort to be interrupted two minutes
later by a dazed shout of "My Ghod, I've seen it!" The slightest diffidence of the actors, though
disarming, didn't help either. Apparently to be funny in public you must above all have authority.
Alistair Paterson for instance, who came next, made some of the feeblest jokes it has ever been
my misfortune to be exposed to, but he produced them with such confidence that the audience was
confidence-tricked into laughing.
He also made some good ones, like "I had some notes but I lost them, so I'll just have to B natural"
(this fell rather flat) and "The Vargo Statten Mag has a circulation of over 50000; if you don't
believe me I can show you the cancellations." And on the pocketbook situation, "Some of them are
incredibly bad; perhaps the ones I don't publish aren't any better."
Terry Jeeves, Alastair Paterson (eb)
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VINCE CLARKE:
I went up to my room and had a wash and came down to find the bar had closed. I don't know
what the hell sort of a Convention those people thought they were running, closing bars like
that, but I sat down in the lounge away from the yakking in the hall and started listening
to a neo-faned who wanted something - I'm not saying what - and then the doors
of the hall burst open and a 7th fandomer bounded out crying "The London Circle
have taken over the Convention! The London Circle have taken over the Convention!"
and as this was way ahead of schedule I went inside the hall (for the first time)
and found the boys doing something wild and extempore on the platform... I think
they were advocating holding future Conventions in places beginning with 'B'
because it was also the initial of Bheer...but the absence of Bert Campbell stood
out like a grunch in an eggplant patch and I started worrying about him again.
He should have hitch-hiked in by that time. The Mancunians didn't believe anything had
happened to him and they had worries of their own anyway, so I hung
around and actually laughed at the Willis-scripted Liverpool group play.
WALT WILLIS:
A day early and put on without announcement so that I hadn't time to escape, came the
play I had written; brilliantly performed on tape by the Liverpool Group, who also deserve credit
for the parody of US commercial radio inserted in the middle. This playlet seems to have become a
yearly chore of mine, and it's a very welcome one--I can now refuse to make speeches with a clear
conscience. I made up my mind a couple of years ago that I'd never speak at a Convention
again--there's no point in trying to change one's psychological make-up at my time of life, and
I don't see any other reason why I should force myself to do something I dislike so much. I did
it at Chicago and Los Angeles, where it was necessary, but that experience didn't make me like
it any better. Any more than being successfully buried alive is a cure for claustrophobia.
A transcript of this play, "The Alien Arrives", can be found in the free to
download ebook at the link below:
Walt Willis, Dave Cohen, unknown, Madeleine Willis,
Chuck Harris, Brian Varley (jc)
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James White, unknown, Madeleine Willis,
Chuck Harris (jc)
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PETE CAMPBELL:
Who and what else did we see there? Sandy Sanderson, who came all the way from Egypt -
and Margaret Finch, who came all the way from Australia. Harris! Ah yes, Chuck Harris; he
spent an entire afternoon flogging raffle tickets (for the Transatlantic Fund, a worthy
cause). I followed him around for the simple earthy pleasure of hearing him say time
after time: "My very last ticket. Don't leave it on my hands, friend."
Margaret Finch at TRIODE stand (jc)
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Sandy Sanderson
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WALT WILLIS:
Later there was a curious interlude when Cohen announced that the London Circle was now going
to demonstrate how to put on a Convention. Nothing happened for a very long time and eventually
most people got up and went out or stood around talking. Finally Ken Bulmer went to the microphone
and announced calmly that "The London Circle, having thoroughly organised this Convention, now
hand over to the Manchester Group." I didn't know quite what to make of this...whether it was
deliberate sabotage or a piece of London Circle self-criticism.
DAVE NEWMAN:
I had just nicely settled down and was halfway through my second pint of brown when Stu Mackenzie
suddenly materialised beside me and said that an impressive array of bottles awaited my attention in
his bedroom. I went along with him to Room 123 and had just finished stowing the stuff in the wardrobe
when in came Ted Carnell trying to look as though he had just wandered in by accident. I took my cue
and gave Ted, Stu, and myself a drink, and was just putting the stuff away again when in drifted Walt
Gillings with an absent-minded look on his face. I gave him a drink too - then in came Ron Buckmaster,
and John Brunner, and Joy Goodwin, and Ted Tubb, and Ken Bulmer, and about half-a-dozen others. I was
there until four o'clock. Then it was tea-time.
VINCE CLARKE:
We joined 15 or so fans at the local Lyons teashop. I had some tea that was
so strong the caffeine-and-ephodrine tablet floated on top, and we agreed that
the afternoon's programme had been lousy. This tea-party was one of those wonderful
things that can't be put down on paper, tho' maybe as most of the London Circleites
had been over 30 hours without sleep it was just hysteria.
Back at the Grosvenor again, I met Dr.Paul Hammett of Malta... you may
recall that he searched the Maltese newstands for SLANT... and when I told him
whom I was he looked slightly puzzled and then said "Oh yes, didn't I see your
work in SLANT?", and someone behind me said THERE IS ONLY ONE CRUD AND AMAZING
IS HIS PROPHET and a voice from a London group said IF IT WASN'T FOR ALL THESE
BLOODY PROVINCIALS THIS WOULD BE A GOOD CONVENTION, so I went upstairs for a
notebook as I was running out of the backs of old envelopes, and when I came
down again walked out of the hotel and put in a trunk-call to the nearby
police station and they didn't know anything about Bert or his bike and weren't
really interested.
A London Group was, as usual, on the platform when I got back again, in
a skit on preparing for a Convention. That was the outward design, anyway, but
our idea had been to elevate it into a huge religous revival for GHU, with
Bert and Ted Tubb leading the con into a mass outburst of Extasy (spelt like
that), Brian Burgess to be sacrificed, and a few personable virgins from the
audience to be invited up to do something or other.... I forget what, but it
involved the gradual disappearance of the LC and the virgins back to the hotel
rooms. Owing to the non-appearance of Bert, the fact that the incense would have
been too over-powering in the small hall and various other reasons, but mostly
worry over Bert, this item was cut very short. Everyone drifted from the stage
and went to the rear of the hall to make bets as to how long the audience would
sit and wait. After a time people were chatting quite freely to each other and
a suitable atmosphere of camaraderie had been established, and we handed the
Convention back to the Committee again. They refused to take the hint, though,
and the programme went on. However, the next item was the auction, conducted
by Ted Tubb, and as everyone knows, an auction conducted by Tubb is an artistic
experience. Walt left me to make notes....
Ted auctioneering. (jc)
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Ted waved the audience to silence, solemnly opened the first magazine,
nodded approvingly at it, shut it, and holding it out to the fascinated public
said:
"IF YOU'RE RUPTURED BY A TRUSS...." The next remark I heard above the shrieking
was LET'S RUIN THE MANCON,
SHALL WE? and after that TURGID TALES OF HUMAN EMOTIONS THAT I DARE NOT PUT
INTO WORDS.... I SHAN'T COME HERE AGAIN IF YOU DON'T MAKE A BID....
'AND SEARCHING MIND' - THAT'S WAT I'VE GOT - HANDS, TOO.... I'M FRYING IN ALL
THESE CLOTHES; JUST KEEP BIDDING SLOWLY WHILE I STRIP.... CHARLES ATLAS GIVE ME
THIS BODY.... FOUR ISSUES, EACH VIBRANT WITH CLEAN, HUMAN EMOTION--THE LASH OF
THE WHIP ECHOES IN EVERY PAGE - LOOK AT IT! - THAT'S DRIBBLE, THAT IS - MAKE
YOUR BIDS BY SIGNAL IF YOU DON'T WANT YOUR WIVES TO KNOW.... A BEAUTIFUL MAG,
TATTERED WITH MUCH READING.... YOU TAKE THIS ONE AND YOU HAVE HALF A COMPLETE
COLLECTION.... YOUR GENEROSITY IS SICKENING ME.... GENUINELY MOUSE-GNAWED....
AN INTERVAL, SIR, WHILE YOU TAKE THAT, SHOE OFF, TAKE THAT SOCK OFF, AND PEEL
THAT POUND NOTE OFF THE LINING.... BUY THE MIDDLE ISSUES THEN BLACKMAIL HIM
TO THE LAST PENNY.... YOU KNOW WHAT DE CAMP'S IDEA OF HUMOUR IS - THE HERO GETS
KNOCKED DOWN THEN TRAMPLED TO DEATH BY AN ELEPHANT.... of a semi-nude cover:
'FATE' - I WISH IT WAS.... WHY WASTE YOUR MONEY ON BEER WHEN YOU CAN BUY BOOKS?
To Londoner Jim Rattigan in the audience: LOOK, CLOTTY, ON THE SECOND BID SAY
TW0 SHILLINGS IN FUTURE - I DIDN'T PUT YOU IN THE AUDIENCE FOR FUN.... To the
dark and beautiful Frances Evans who was helping him: TAKE THIS, FRANCES, YOU
BEAUTIFUL HOARY - H-O-U-R-I....
Frances Evans (eb)
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Pam Bulmer (eb)
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There's nothing I can say about Ted's genius at an auction that hasn't
been said before. I can only say I enlisted Pam's help half-way through to
jot down some Tubbisms in shorthand, but at the time of writing they're
undecipherable.... she was laughing too much.
After the auction they prepared for the film show.
WALT WILLIS:
The talk at tea-time was all about the startling news that the film show that evening was to
be Things To Come---NOT Metropolis. Shocked murmurings were heard when the announcement was
made. Small indignation meetings were held. Neofans staggered about white and trembling, their
world crashing to ruins about their ears. Old fans shook their heads forebodingly. No good would
come from this mad craze for novelty. A Convention without Metropolis: It was unthinkable. As
Rick Dalton was heard to complain, "It should at least appear on the programme!"
But there was even worse to come. No one discovered that the show was illegal under a
twenty-year-old statute, the films arrived safely, on time, and wound the right way, no one ran
around asking the audience if anyone had a 35mm projector, the projector did not break down,
the film was not put on backwards, or even upside down.
In fact the whole showing went off without a single hitch. It was terrifying, like the end of
the world.
Ken McIntyre, Ethel Lindsay, Terry Jeeves, Frances Evans, John Brunner in mask (eb)
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DAVE NEWMAN:
Around ten o'clock the London crowd gathered in Stu's room together with a number of people like Dave
Cohen, Alistair Patterson, and others who had been invited by participants in the bheer pool. As time
went by the gathering became more and more noisy and we had a couple of visitor from the night porters
who apparently took a dim view of this sort of thing. Its just as well that they didn't come into the
room or they really would have seen something to upset them. The room must have looked really bad, as
it apparently even managed to upset some fans ..... and fans are the sort of people one expects to be
fairly case-hardened to scenes of mild debauchery. I admit that when looking at the seething mass of
bodies in the room it was occasionally difficult on casual inspection to determine precisely which arm
or leg belonged to who, but this as merely due to the fact that two small single beds were accommodating
approximately eighteen people. The floor was in a similarly crowded condition except in the immediate
vicinity of the wardrobe which was kept clear to give me free access to the bottles. Round about
midnight some of the fans decided that change of venue might be a good idea but, on going out of the
door, were courteously chucked back in again by a lurking night porter.
Shortly after this people started drifting away, some to bed and the remainder to pay the periodic
flying visit to the Liverpool party in 133. Some of these latter were to be seen later on fighting
rearguard actions with the night porters, who proved themselves to be doughty and worthwhile opponents,
quite undismayed by the silent menace of a zap gun.
ERIC BENTCLIFFE:
The programme having died a natural death around 10p.m., the Convention proper began. The
Liverpool Group had reserved a Lounge in the Hotel for a party, and also supplied the booze.
My personal thanks to them for this. It would take an eidetic fan to remember all that took
place at this party, Walt Willis was heard to remark that Chicago was never like this. Ina
Shorrock and Pat Doolan, both of the Liverpool Group, wore (but only just) space-girl costumes
for the party and were probably the most sought after persons in the room. If I attempted to
describe their costumes I would probably have to spend a sojourn in Spain along with Hank
Jansen, so will content myself with mentioning the fact that when Chuck Harris arrived at
room 133 and perceived Ina, his eye-balls were on his cheeks for at least five minutes.
Eric Bentcliffe, Pat Doolan, Ina Shorrock, Bill Harrison,
Ethel Lindsay (ns)
|
TED TUBB:
The Liverpool group extended hospitality and warm friendliness. A host of some of the most
attractive and charming women I have ever met and a non stop drinking, talking session which
lasted well into the small hours. Mrs. Shorrock looked both futuristic and ravishing in a
costume apparently copied from one of Bergey's blondes and Pat Doolan made an equal second.
Thinking about them makes me wish that we could really have a costume ball at the next
do - think of what we're missing.
WALT WILLIS:
Unable to stand the strain, many people went upstairs to parties. The London Circle had one
for which the admission charge was ten shillings, but the passports you got for this were the
best thing about it. There was nothing that you couldn't see at the seaside for free with a
pair of binoculars. I thought of making love to my own wife, but I was afraid the London
Circle might be shocked.
CHUCK HARRIS:
Just after midnight, Pete Taylor told me that they wanted to see me upstairs in
the Liverpool party. All the way along the corridor he was shooting a line about
how much they liked me and how much they wanted to see me, and when we got to the
door, somebody peeped out and said "It's Chuck Harris' Come in Chuck." I did so —
and not less than twenty of the fiends were waiting for me with their water-pistols,
— I was drenched to the skin long long before I could get to the soda syphon and
retaliate. After this fond welcome they gave me gin and beer and whisky, and then,
tiring of running backwards and forwards, told me to help myself. All the liquor
was out on. a long table, there was absolutely no check on who drank what, but nobody
was drunk or officious. I would have probably been both, but I just didn't have
time - I was too busy talking to Mal and Ken Potter and trying to keep waterpistol
experts from lousing up my drink.
unknown, Ken Potter, Chuck Harris, unknown (ns)
|
This, I thought, was a very fine party indeed, so
I went downstairs to the London party to fetch Walt, Madeleine, and James. I was
completely sober of course, and it was just an unfortunate accident that on the
return trip I knocked on the door and gave the password: "This is Abnorm Wansborough"
before making, certain that it was the right door. It was a genuine mistake, and
there was absolutely no need for Walt to rush me off down the corridor before the
door opened, instead of waiting so that we could make a courteous explanation.
After we got back to the Liverpool party, the rest of the London Circle began to
trickle up. Vince, Mackenzie, Carnell, Gillings, Patterson, and just about everybody
else who wasn't otherwise engaged, rolled in and circulated. This open-house policy
made for a far more successful party than London's "closed-shop. " There was more
than enough to drink in the London room, — apart from the admission fees, they'd
been given beer-money by the permanent "Loncon" committee, - and it would have
been a nice gesture to have invited a few Northerners in for a drink or two.
ERIC BENTCLIFFE:
Much zapping was indulged in at the convention and it reached a high tide-mark during this
party. Alistair Paterson, editor of the VARGO STATTEN MAG (and as such a target for every fan)
was thoroughly soaked several times in the first hour or so, once by Chuck Harris who hadn't
been paid for a story in the aforementioned magazine, and once by Peter Hamilton (likeable
editor of NEBULA) who. apparently, just disapproved of Paterson's editorial policy. The London
Circle were also holding a party in a room of smaller dimensions and with a more 'select'
clientele (they refused admission to several fans, apparently because they were fans!) but
around 1a.m. they ran out of booze and decided to gate-crash the party in room 133. They were
met with a barrage from all zap-guns, and retired almost immediately.
There was much confusion about the London Circle and their drink and 'passports'
policy, which
Dave Newman explains here:
John Roles, Terry Jeeves, Frank Milnes, Norman Shorrock (ns)
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Brian Burgess, Pat Doolan
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ERIC BENTCLIFFE:
The head night porter appeared requested that we break up the party as no-one in the hotel
could get to sleep. After some little discussion and tearful leave-taking, the party broke up,
ostensibly to get some sleep. In actual fact most of the attendees arrived by devious routes
at a far distant corridor, most of the rooms on which were occupied (occasionally) by the
Liverpool Group.
Brian Lewis, Pat Doolan, Fred Smith (ns)
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My recollections of this phase of the convention are even more hazy than of the previous hours,
I must relate however that Pete Taylor passed out on the bed in Pat's room, and, being suitably
adorned with a lacy green night-dress, was used as a photographers model by Fred Robinson. As
I left this passage, or gallery with doors leading into other rooms, Dave Cohen was racing,
on hands and knees along the corridor and Fred was providing a photo finish. Such a night!
Pete Taylor - going, going....
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....gone! (both photos ns)
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DAVE NEWMAN:
At about four o'clock Sunday morning the only people
present in 123 were Stu and Connie Mackenzie, Ted Carnell, and myself. We were enjoying a last drink in
peace and quiet when in drifted Pete Taylor, who found his raincoat. rolled it into the semblance of a
pillow, selected a vacant spot on the floor, and promptly fell unconscious. All this had been without a
word being spoken and we got the impression of a weary and alcoholic fan finding his way by a sort of
homing instinct to what he knew to be sanctuary. We slept......
WALT WILLIS (in HYPHEN):
Many interesting incidents occurred that night which I cannot report here because of my
innate sense of decency and my respect for the English libel laws. I'll report them in
Oopsla instead.
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