THE FANZINE REPORTS

• Walt Willis in HYPHEN #4
• ASTRONEER
• SPACE DIVERSIONS
• FANTASY TIMES

I literally staggered out of Paddington Station around eight-fifteen on Friday evening, weighed down to the ground by having put all my eggs in one basket - to be more precise one very large and very full suitcase.

However, less than an hour later I was hurrying through Norwich St, and pushing open the door of the White Horse expecting to find fans hanging to the ceiling by their eyebrows, but instead it was comfortably half full which was indeed a blessing for it afforded me ample elbow-room to wield my camera. It gets a might awkward in a crowded room lugging a fifteen pound Battery pack which is the power unit of the electronic flash I used to photograph.

During the evening pretty well all the British actifans came in and out, (mostly out) complaining of being tired - Ghu! what a way to START a Con, feeling tired. Amongst the many regional accents to be heard that evening in the bar there were several that were strongly Transatlantic. Firstly of course there was that of the first lady of the Con. editress Bea Mahaffey who came in during the evening with Walt Willis his very charming wife Madeleine, whom I had the pleasure of meeting for the first time, and that expert on aqueous weapons, James White. Then from Milwaukee Wis., came Rita Krohn, an aspiring writer with a very inspiring personality - I'm sure she'll go over great in Philly (Shapiro please note).

Also there representing Southern fandom was Jesse Floyd - from whom fandom is going to hear quite a lot I fancy - watch Quandry for this. Also helping Bert Campbell make the W.H. like the old Bull & Bush was my old friend Bill Harding who has emerged from several months silence in Bristol with a beard which fooled me for a moment. Bill comes from Buffalo --- just don't grow horns Bill!

It's difficult to say which of our American visitors drew the most attention or worked the hardest to help the Con become thu success it was but there was no doubt at all about which British personality stole the honours. It was Bert Campbell's Con all the way through. His personality, ability and sheer hard work made the weekend a howling success.

One great piece of news emerges from that evening - it was revealed by Jesse that The Fort Mudge Steam Caliope Co. after great research has discovered a new use for steam - it cleans things. No doubt Watkins will be shortly advocating that all fanzines be subject to treatment. However, more will be revealed to you about this at a later date as Jesse is shortly to visit Cardiff and this meeting will surely result in something - even if it's only a hangover.

When Lou finally got rid of us at closing time we adjourned around the corner to another pub which closes later. Bert offered to take Bea around on his motorbike - that's the first time I ever saw anyone ride a motorbike sidesaddle. As Bill Harding put it "she's got more guts than any woman I've ever known," - having ridden on Bert's bike I tend to agree. What a picture - Bert in a duffle coat, his beard flowing in the breeze and Bea hanging on behind.

From here we tottered around to the Bonnington where the Con was to be held, only to find the bar closed, so we grabbed all available transport and adjourned to a place somewhere in the Leicester Square area. Having had no tea, the evening's liquid refreshments were beginning to take effect, so I proceeded to demolish a pile of chicken sandwiches, hope I left some for the other people, anyway as I felt a bit groggy I faded out and went back to get some sleep. Evidently I missed quite a night.

PSEUDOPORNOGRAPHIC

The following morning the Welsh contingent was at full strength - they slept the night before - all that is except Dave Barker, who will probably never get over this Con. Bill and Fred Price had got in the morning before. I got in during the evening, and Dave arrived at the Ghod awful hour of 4.30 a.m. Arthur Hillman also turned up at the Con. making five of us. We all arrived bright and early at the Bonnington and were a little surprised to find that the Con was being held in the Temple Room - such huckstering!

Firstly we found that everyone was wearing a badge with their name on it, this is an excellent idea imported from the U,S.,with Cons getting so well attended these days it saves a lot of time and makes for easy friendships. A good 90% of the fans present were also wearing a second badge sporting slogans to the effect that "I like Bea Mahaffey" and "I like Rita Krone". WAW`s referred to Pogo; I'm told that there qere quite a few odd remarks on some of these badges altho I didn't see any.

When we went to set up our stall we found that there was no table reserved for us so we promptly appropriated Jim Rattigan°s, who, when he came in, took over one reserved for a publishing firm who didn't turn up. Bill put out the artwork and I the photos and mags. I'd made a Special point of bringing with me some drawing pins, as had most fans, only to discover a plaster wall that required Scotch tape to stick anything to it - and the supply that was available was inadequate to say the least! However, we spread the display over the table. I'm glad to say that Bill's artwork caused quite a lot of comment and the stall was continually patronised.

I set up both cameras ready and made a few trial shots to get the feel of things. A lovely hotel from the photographer's point of view, the Bonnington, plenty of light is reflected from the walls and ceiling - important in flash work, especially in a large hall.

After a mill around to meet people and some char we came back to the hall in the early afternoon as Fred Brown and Ted Carnell were getting everybody together for the opening of the official proceedings. Carnell opened by saying that bearing in mind that Korshak couldn't see beyond the front row at the Chicon, and not wanting to miss anybody, he would. point out a few London fans and the provincial actifen who could then in turn introduce people from their own areas. Unfortunately Ted has not studied a map of Britain for a long time as this sort of petered out after L'pool and Manchester were introduced.

A discussion was then opened on the trends of modern S-F and was started by Bill Temple who was really on top of his form - crack followed crack without pause making his speech so good that everything else that followed that day seemed pretty dull. I jotted a few notes as he went on. Referring to Carnell he revealed that he was known in the publishing world as "Honest John" Carnell; another big man in every way was G.Ken Chapman. Somehow Algernon Blackwood came up and a story allegedly titled The Dog Whom The Trees Loved - or was it the Trees Whom The Dog Loved - got mentioned. Another fan acqtaintance of Bill's had grown to be a big man in the field - in fact he had beaten him to the paunch. However it could not be long before Bill made reference to the one and only Arthur Clarke. Mentioning Arthur's recent succession of book sales Bill mentioned that a fortune had been made from "The Exploitation of Space." Arthur we understand is now being referred to as Ego Head and Heinlein had called him 'The Man Who Sold The Moon.' Arthur was at present photographing sharks underwater, rumors wore that he was being investigated by Senator McCarthy for 'submersive activities'. Bill sat down to a very well earned round of applause. Other speeches in this item were by Ted Tubb, John Brunner, John Christopher and Vince Clarke - appearing in the guise of a huckster for the first time.

Frank Arnold sounded very pessimistic; he said that from what little Stf he had read over the past few years, he gathered the impression that the stories were the same, the plots in fact had all been done before - I for one disagree.

With the next item Ted Carnell really started something. Mentioning the recent article in Authentic where John Christopher made very harsh criticism of sex and Stf, and the Symposium on Sex and Sadism in recent Stf that the L'pool group were selling at the Con. he gave the mike to John Christopher to voice second thoughts; he was followed by a succession of speakers. Fred Brown, far from condemning Howard Browne for publishing the Spillane story said he liked it --this was the first time I ever saw hardened fans look shocked. A well known scientist who is also a reader of Stf spoke from the audience and made several good points and coined the word 'pseudopornographic' for fiction that was naughty 'in inverted commas' (perveted commas, maybe?). This discussion got quite lively but was eventually wound up by Ted Carnell who found he had to apologise as someone had brought along a daughter of tender years. I don't know how old she was but after some of the remarks made I don't doubt that she had tender ears. An announcement was then made that the idea had been broached by many American fans to bring over a British fan for the Philcon in September. A raffle of original cover paintings had been organised to raise the cash. These tickets were available over here and were to be sold during the Con at 6d a time (I believe they went quite rapidly). The idea was suggested from the platform that British fans should get together to see if we could choose someone to go. We did this on Sunday but the big stumbling block is the fact that the fan in question is going to have to raise his own fare initially which means well over £100, altho it is quite possible that he will be reimbursed later; also the trip would occupy 3-4 weeks, The two items have ruled out everyone eligible so far. Trouble is most British fans are working class people or students and both time and money are too short to consider it. Being one of those approached I could only say the same as the rest - "I'd love to but...." However it's a bit too much of a rush to organise anything this year so we decided to start a Transatlantic Fund to take British fans to the States and bring U.S, fans over here to a future Con in this country. Now as a faned I'm going to ask you a favour. I want every one of my readers in the U.K. to write down on a postcard the names of four British fans whom he would nominate to attend a convention in the U,S, as a British representative. Put these in order of preference and send the postcard to 'Walter Willis at 170 Upper Newtownards Rd. Belfast, N.Ireland. The idea being that from the result of this we can find the most popular choices and they can be approached to see if they can manage it. By September 1954 we should be in a position to help quite considerably from a financial angle. But don't delay - do it now, all we.ask is that the fans you choose should be fairly well known. NO, don't read any further, write that postcard now!!

Getting back to Saturday, at 3 p.m. the Junior Fanatics.were to produce a play altho we had been told earlier that it had been cancelled -- it should have been obliterated. I don't know who hatched the plot or who egged them on to produce it but it's a wonder they didn't get the bird.

With the next item came some bad feeling and I'm sure that tempers got alittle too strained - or am I too sensitive?. Anyway, Dave Cohen was given the opportunity to voice his arguments for a Con in Manchester next year, and give his criticisms of the London Circle. Dave commented on an editorial in Authentic and stressed the point that he din'nt like having to ask London IF the North could hold a Con -- all he wanted was some support from London when he did. He accused the L.C. of apathy and lack of interest. Fred Brown replied for London and described the L.C. as a circle of friends, a loosely knit organisation who only appointed officers to run Cons. He argued that he'd seen no advertising for last year's Mancon and' neither probably had others. The arguments then flew back and forth but heated tho they became,the participants were no nearer to a solution at the end than at the start. Personally I think that the only solution will be to keep the annual "Big" Con at London as I'm convinced that not 10% of Southern fandom would ever go north to this type of Con while a very much larger proportion of Northern fans would come South. The emphasis of this Con should be, as it has been in the past, upon the pro' side of the business, the editors and authors bearing the brunt of the organising and entertaining. Then hold an annual FANCON in Manchester or Liverpool, where the whole programme should be mapped out for, by, and bout fandom. This system seems to work out O.K. in the States with a World Con that,is primarily Pro' and a fan organised Midwest Con at Indian Lake -- how about it Northerners? I realise that they are arguments against this but fans are primarily fans, and if the programme is sufficiently attractive THEY WILL TURN UP!

The tension built up by the last item was then swiftly dispersed and forgotten in the laughter that was raised by 'Whiskers', written by WA, this was Walt at his best. It was presented as a broadcast over the P.A. system and told the story of catastrophe. The awful story of Bert Campbell - his research into drugs - how he spent years searching for a drug to cure leprosy, then at last - success, his drug was found to be 'a perfect cure - for tubercolosis. Then, after even deeper research into T,B, he found a cure for leprosy. His fame spread far axnd wide and through the years discovery followed discovery until at last a stockpile of drugs was built up, waiting for someone to discover what they would cure. Changing his field of research he developed a furniture polish that proved to be an ideal sandwich spread. Then at last his greatest discovery - the instantaneous hair remover. He decided to sacrifice his beard to be the first to try it out. No doubt you've guessed by now that it instantaneously caused the beard to grow in length as the square of it's root. But I'm sure the complete script is sure to be published somewhere so I won't tell you more. Congratulations are due to all who took part in the sketch and made it such a success although the Hair-o was Bert Campbell.

Followed games which raised little response from the audience, unfortunately apart from those who took part no one had much idea what was going on, except that money was being given away for answering questions.

Somewhere around here people faded out for the tea break and groups of fans turned up in cafes all around the area. I'm sure the local inhabitants must have thought us a gang of egoists walking around with our names written all over us, and I noticed that fans were prominently displaying copies of'Sex and Sadism in Stf' - ah well, that's fandom.

Coming back to the Bonnington, the editors and authors were answering questions submitted by the audience. I got there in the middle of a discussion on mutation in which fruit flies figured prominently, although I seem to remember reference to something with five heads -- but he wasn't present so it couldn't have been a fan. Then came an interesting question on whether a fan was liable to be reincarnated as an ant-eater, - raspberries to whoever sent this question to John Christopher to answer.

The auction followed and most people agreed that even with Ted Tubb batting it never really acheived the heights of the previous year. Too much crud was being - not sold *thrown* away. It's a reflection on Anglo-Fandom that they've chosen to gather together as much pure junk as possible to give to the committee to sell; heck, if everybody present had given one book or mag that was worth reading the auction would have been really worth attending. As it was it became rather ludicrous, bouquets to Ted for trying so hard. One novel event during the auction came about when Ted offered any item on the stall to the first person to come up and sing something. The only person with enough nerve was the little girl I mentioned earlier - if I offer any more bouquets to Ted people will believe he's dead.

<>Now Is The Time For All Good Fen To Come To The Aid Of The Party

As the evening drew on plans were being made in every corner for smoke-filled rooms. The biggest seemed to be organised by the Liverpool group and most of the actifen had been invited. Finally the Con proper broke up -in fact it just disintegrated fan by fan. Not being able to remember which room the party was being held I made my way upstairs with ears attuned ready to catch fannish remarks to lead me to the room. Eventually I located the noise, and having practically forced the door, I found myself jammed into a small hotel room about 15 x 10 occupied by over 20 fen not counting the furniture. The fact that I'd gotten into the wrong party didn't worry me much as Isoon found a whisky-bottle, and, failing to locate a glass, I discovered a weird looking pioce of pottery that I assume was a flower vase; (at least I hope it was a flower vase), anyway, the whisky tasted good.

Just about every loading fan apart from the Liverpool and Manchester groups was in the room somewhere and about a dozen different conversations were being carried on simultaniously. This was not too last unfortunately, as an official knock sounded on the door and a voice announced "Night Porter -- will you please go to your rooms." I wonder what he would have said had he seen how many were inside; he'd probably, have thought it was an orgy.

We decided to adjourn for Chow; someone suggested a Chinese restaurant, so we silently sallied forth and dived for the transport, which consisted of Bert Campbell' s bike and Ted Tubb's car. We were treated to the interesting spectacle of Bill Harding with grey Homburg, beard, and tightly rolled umbrella, riding pillion on the bike - with Bert and his beard up front it was a sight worth seeing. Bill tells me incidentally, that if nothing else, he's learned to roll an umbrella in Britain and I'll grant him that, he roll's a mean umbrella, - over here he needs it. The rest of us piled, very literally into the car. I don't know how he managed it but Jesse Floyd had Rita Krohn on his lap - I got Chuck Harris on my stomach - I can assure you of one thing, Chuck will never be a spaceman - he's too damned heavy.

Much to my relief we eventually arrived so I managed to breathe again. The Chinese place was closed so we found an Indian Cafe where, I had my first taste of curried meat and rice.

I enjoyed it a lot, moreso because of the company though.

Around 12:15 we began to get black looks from the staff who were waiting to go home. The decision was then made to go down to Ron Buckmaster's place in Woolwich and we piled in again; this time I made sure I'd breathe by riding on Bert Campbell's bike. Along the`way we picked up Ron°s car driven by his wife Daphne and we then proceeded across London in convoy. Believe me we drew plenty of startled gazes from the population - and the police. Man, that was a long trip, if we°d_gone much further I'm sure we'd have fallen off the edge of the world; however, we eventually arrived at Woolwich Barracks Married Quarters amidst sundry cracks about never getting out, again. Once there, out came the bottles and on went the conversation; after a while the cat got up and left wearing a look of amazement - I shouldn't have been surprised had it shaken it's head sadly.

Bert Campbell really came into his own from this time onwards as he planted himself in the fireplace and acted as keeper of the bottles. Quite early in the night someone spoke that now sacred phrase, "Let's all Hum." Hmmm? The conversation veered about a while; until Bert suggested a test of mental powers. We decided to levitate a cardboard box - the one that the booze had been carried in -- this cheating as it was already pretty high, after great concentration and inspired by that great slogan which became a by-word of the night, "Ya gotta believe!" we finally gave the box uplift. This, logically, was followed by a seance, which if nothing else, provided a good excuse to hold hands in the dark. As I was sitting next to Bea you all have my permission to turn green with envy.

Someone suggested that Bert looked like Toulouse Lautrec so he walked around on his knees for a while.

A great dual more happened but I have to admit that I can't remember a lot of it. Somewhere around 5 a.m. everyone seemed to be spluttering poetry and Shakespeare sonnets were being recited at Bea from various directions in fact more than one of us had a Bea in his Sonnet. Inevitably the topic of conversation mutated into sex; it became what we might describe as quite frank. Somewhere around six or seven the party broke up, and Bea, Rita, Jesse, Ted Tubb and myself travelled "back to the Bonnington looking pretty bleary and we males all needing a shave.

After the girls had freshened up a bit, we found ourselves some breakfast and then broke up. I made my way back to my digs only to find another breakfast awaiting me - this just about cooked me, but nevertheless I couldn't sleep so I contacted the other boys and we returned to the Bonnington which looked awfully bare of fans, and those present remindecd me of somnambulists. Eric Bentcliffe told me I`d missed quite a party. It seems that there the Northerners had bribed the night porter with some whisky, to let them onto the roof where they held the party; this went on all night and only broke up when several fen started dropping empties down the chimneys.

THE SOMNAMBULISTICON

At somewhere about 2p.m. (Con-jective time) the Con got under way again with editor's addresses, this title was of course a front for Ted Carnell (Bert Campbell has a natural front behind which he can lurk at will, if Will doesn't mind being lurked at). This item was beautifully done--completely deadpan with Bert bringing into use a whistle and a bell to put Carnell out of his stride--but as I said afterwards he'stride hard.

The International Fantasy Award follovred -- or -rather, a pale ghost of the expected award followed, Item A. - the awards themselves hadn't been completed in time and Item B - both authors were in America. Les Flood who commented on the item seemed very, very depressed about the whole, thing. I shall be surprised if there is an award next year - unless things alter a bit. Pity, as I for one think this award is a very good thing. This year the judges chose "CITY" by Clifford D. Simak to win the fiction award and "Lands Beyond." by de Camp to win the non-fiction.

The results of the competitions run in the printed programme were announced next. Dave Barker won one of those -- he never did tell me how much he won, - I'm worried he might start a. rival fanzine with it.

After the results came what I would term the most unappreciated item of the whole Con. "Editorial Ravings" postponed from Saturday. This was a series of inter-editor letters read by Ted fubb, There was hardly a giggle from the audience although there was a gag in every line, - I think the audience was gagged as well. A surprise item followed this. A playlet presented by two of our transatlantic visitors whose name I never did succeed in getting. A young lady from the States and a guy from Canada. The setting being an artificial satellite occupied by a woman scientist -- more the former than the latter - and a robot with a human brain. He had been her companion until burned by radiation and having to adopt an artificial body. Into this situation enter two men. with ideas - unfortunately for the woman who also has an idea -- they prove to be androids. The most was obtained from the situation and the whole thing was very well presented. A very novel idea was a large portrait of Arthur Clarke headed by the words - "Per Ardua ad Arthur" - this portrait was bowed to every time anyone passed it. The audience really lapped this one up.

Tea break proved interesting - -in fact very much so. The weather in London was terrifically hot - for London, and right opposite the Bonnington was some kind of hostel for girls. So half the Con types were ranged along the opposite pavement admiring the fillies sunning themselves in sun-suits on the balconies - one of them even --- but that's another story!

During the afternoon there was to have been a film show of 'Destination Moon in the Temple Room while the main Con went on in the large hall upstairs. However, there was no film show. Seems that there is a regulation forbidding the use of 35 mm. projectors without a fire-proof operating box. This of course wasn't discovered until the last minute - too late to get anything on 16 mm, One thing - no one can complain that the films were poor, even if it seems queer that a different hotel was chosen this year mainly so that the `glass roof wouldn't interfere with the films.

However, having two halls gave fen a nattering place if they didn't feel like staying with the official proceedings. After tea the Medway Club, aided and abbetted Tony Thorne to present a crazy display of fauna and flora of that area. The items were many and very varied, from an electric torch bulb in amber, a stone-age exhibit dating from the days when they were used as ornaments -- before the discovery of electricity, to a Meccano robot via a pair of diapers - the exact purpose of wrhich seems to elude me.

To round off this item the Junior Fanatics presented to W.A.W. on behalf of Lee Hoffman a binder lettered in gold - QUANDRY, as an award for that fanzine winning a poll for the most popular fanzine.

Back upstairs to the main hall for the Guest Editor's Session. While people were assembling for this who should turn up but L.Ron Hubbard.

Carnell opened the session by introducing Nick Oosterbaan editor of the new promag PLANET. Nick proved to be a short guy but long on humor, and a perfect speaker in English. He was the only editor I've ever heard say he was in for the money, which is why he's an authors' agent and translator as well. PLANET should go a long way with Nick at the helm. He was followed by Maurice Goldsmith, a former UNESCO Science editor who read a paper on Stf that went over very well. Then Ted introduced Bea Mahaffey and proceoded to fire questions at her about OTHER WORLDS and its future. Seems 0W is going places with higher author rates - must keep my eye on that 'zine. Bea was followed by Hubbard; he has quite a sense of humor and made quite a neat though unrehearsed speech, strictly about Stf. One important item to be revealed - he's taking up writing again and is at present working on a long novel.

Hubbard was accompanied by a young woman with a very large and imposing press camera so that all through his speech he was "fired at" from left and right by the two of us. Then followed something of a surprise. Ted introduced Peter Hamilton of NEBULA. Now to look at Peter one would never imagine him to be an editor, or even a good speaker, yet he made one of the best "public appearances" of the Con. His handling of the questions - and there were plenty of them - was masterly. NEBULA is to go bi-monthly shortly and is to be joined by a companion mag printing rather more juvenile Stf; this, hopes Peter, will sell in large enough quantities to help subsidise NEBULA and allow him to purchase top-line stories for it. Already on hand is.a hitherto unpublished Eric Frank Russel story and another by Bradbury. Also, negotiations are being made with Heinlein. NEBULA has gone a long way in three issues, and I think it's going a lot further in such capable hands.

"NETBALL ANYBODY?"

It wasn't long before Bert was back on the platform to be presented by Tony Thorne with the "Nut Award". This seemed to consist of a sort of Robot yo-yo at any rate Bert soon prostrated the audience by dancing around waving it in the face of Hubbard and mouthing strange noises - Dianetics was never like this!

Congratulations to Bert Campbell and Brian Berry for this novel item. Barely had aching sides relaxed from this when the long awaited Ballet came on. Now much had been whispered about this item all through the Con, it was, we were assured, the Piece-de-resistance of the whole Con-vention and sure enough that's just what it turned out to be.

I was so interested in the "dancers" that I can't remember what music they were using, However I have an idea it was "Danse Macabre" which couldn't have been more inappropriate - or funnier.

Enter Fred Brown, dressed in flowered dress, nylons and bashful expression - enter Dorothy Jacobs (Mrs Jim Rattigan) in black tights, masked and red cloaked, who danced like she was used to it. I'm no expert on ballet, but I thought her interpretation of the part and mood of the music excellent. Then enter the rest of the "girls". Tedd Tubb, who unfortunately was having trouble with his figure - half of which kept slipping down while the other half changed sides. However, the sight of Charlie Duncombe nearly choked me, the wide eyed expression, the attitude, every time I think of it or look at the photos I can't help bursting out laughing. Enter Daphne Buckmaster dressed as an American soldier - the theme was a bit weak but who cares - after the first few minutes everybody was too helpless with laughter to worry about themes.

Of course I ran out of film half way through the ballet and got my film jammed as well - so I couldn't have changed the film even if I'd had any more, lucky though that the jam hadn't occured before.

I drifted out for a drink after this and packed up my miniature. Then I remembered I had a few exposures left on the roll film camera and although I had no bulbs left I had some "Flashbuttons" which are capsules of flash powder fired like bulbs - only they go off with a very sharp spit and shoot out a flame - had some fun with this when I went back to the hall where the auction was in full swing. Well at least I drove all the people from the back of the hall to the table where the auction was being held.

THE LAST LONG LAP

In spite of the number of people present and the potentialities, this party, I regret to say never came to life. It wasn't long before a poker game had started in the middle of the floor - interesting to those who had the money and could play poker - but the rest of us were pretty bored. Walt, Madeleine, James White, Chuck Harris, Vince Clarke and I had a natter in another room while scoffing all the available food. When we drifted back to the rest of the gang we found a dance session in progress, or rather, Bert Campbell was playing records while Bea and Brian Berry danced - this went on for hours and hours. Everyone had a sort of fixed expression with glazed eyes as if they had been hypnotised. Looked like they were suffering from Con-Cussion, certainly it deserved the title of the 'Trance - Atlanticon'.

THE WEAK END

However, no one was strong enough to laugh. Eventually everyone drifted off with farewells till next year. Vince, Walt, Madeline, James, Chuck, Bill, Fred and myself went off together, tottering along to the station. I can't think why, but every time I looked at James he shuddered and hid behind Chuck. Eventually he told me not to look at him as my eyes frightened him. However, eventually we arrived back in the city, said our goodbyes, and headed for home. Home - ah, it seemed like a dream after this mad weekend and when I got to bed Monday night I'd been up for 60 hours - and I used to grumble at 24 hour guard duties in the army - Ghod!

However, in retrospect this was. a real Con. the Con we have been dreaming about for years. We all grumbled a bit at the time but I doubt if anyone could have put on a better show. Whoever runs the next Con is going to have a job to better it - or even equal it - but you can be sure of one thing - We'll be there!

FAN OF THE CON ------ Bert Campbell.
ITEM ------ The Ballet.

THE CORONCON
or Through Darkest England Burning The Candle At Both Ends

After breakfast EFR drove us to Chester, passing through about ten feet of Wales just so Bea could say she'd 'done' it, then back to his house for a magnificent lunch, and then down to the station where we said goodbye to the hospitable Liver- pudlians. It was a relief train and we had a carriage to ourselves for the whole of that golden journey to London. We talked and laughed and sang the whole way, except when we were reminiscing nostalgically (already) about the trip round Ireland. James found the key of his room at Portballintrae which he'd forgotten to hand in, and carried out an investiture of Bea with the number-plate as with the Legion of Honour not forgetting the most trivial detail of punctilio, and, carried away, proposed to her several more times. Next time she'll know to bring a suitcase of rejection slips.

Shortly before the train got into Euston, where 'Harris' was to meet us, James filled his waterpistol and began to hum "High Noon"; but when we got out Chuck was nowhere to be found. James suspected an ambush and began to talk wildly of erecting barricades, but I finally ran Chuck to earth at the wrong platform. He had a girl with him whom we took to be his sister; however it later turned out to be Rita Krohne whom as a friend of our idol Robert Bloch we'd been ready to welcome with open arms. In the taxi we proceeded to let our old friend Chuck in on all the fannish nonsense we'd had so much fun with in the trip round Ireland, until Rita pointed out that the expression 'George' which poor Bea had taught us was actually quite passe. In Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where they are evidently right up to the minute on these matters, George went out over a year ago and had been superseded by other expressions which we can't remember now, possibly because we couldn't feel the same affection for them as we had for the now discredited George. Mourning the dear departed, we finished the journey to the Bonnington in sober silence; then on to the White Horse where our spirits were lifted by the warmth of the London Circle welcome.

The Convention next morning was due to start at 11am, and we took care and a taxi to arrive shortly afterwards so that in the event of its actually starting on time we should be on hand to carry out those who had fainted from the shock. But all was well ---at 11.30 Ron Buckmaster was still asking everyone if they had seen the microphone. Evidently someone, probably a Northerner, had taken the mike out of the Convention already. Someone suggested he should call for its return over the PA system. While the Committee were mulling over this we all milled around to the strain of Stan Kenton records.

At 11.43 precisely Chairman Fred Brown apologised for the delay. He offered no explanation, and nobody expected one. He also announced the last minute cancellation of the showing of 'Destination Moon., due to the London County Council's unexpected objection to the showing of inflammable 35mm film in unlicensed theatres. Eviidently the Government had sneaked through the Cinematograph Act of 1909 without informing the Convention Committee.

He also read a postcard from Peter Hamilton regretting that he might not be able to be present. Since Peter was actually standing just under the Chairman's nose, it looked as if he had delivered the postcard himself to save postage. Fred also announced the cancellation of the Junior Fanatics play, adding rather tactlessly that something better would be substituted.

This, incidentally, was the first Convention I've been at where there was a special item listed in the official programme as "announcements of unavoidable changes". A wise precaution, and one which I hope portends a new era of more realistic programme booklets. Perhaps we shall one day have a really accurate printed programme scheduling such normal features of the average Convention as 'unnavoidable delay', 'breakdown of PA system', 'confusion', 'collapse of Chairman' 'utter chaos' and 'Committee blind drunk'.

After all this excitement we adjourned for a nice restful lunch interval, during which we watched James and Chuck trying to trap one another in a wildly revolving door, James and Chuck having a running gunfight with waterpistols in Southhampton Row, and a film company shooting a crime melodrama in a side street. James and Chuck were much the best, we thought. Then back to the Bonnington for the introduction of notables. The London Chairman was much gentler than Korshak, Bea and I agreed; all he threatened to do was 'run over us quickly', and he hadn't even got a bicycle on his nose to do it with. There was warm applause for Bea, and also for Chuck Harris attending his first convention.

William F. Temple then led off the pro authors panel. He began by saying he was supposed to speak about the future of science fiction, but he never read the stuff himself and he didn't believe it had any future whatsoever. Instead he would talk about the friends he had made through sf. He had a list here of 23 of them, 20 crossed out and the remainder trying to live down the film of "The Foursided Triangle". One of them was Honest John Carnell, the man who had made more un- declared money out of sf than anyone since H.G. Wells. We shouldn't hold New Worlds against Ted--he took the job as a mistake, being under the impression that it was paid. Ted had come a long way since then and he, Temple, hoped he was going along way. The second was G. Ken Chapman. Fantasy was still Ken's first love, apart from beer, his favourite story being Algernon Blackwood's "The Tree That The Dogs Loved." Referring to Ken's appearance, he said he was very much of a middle- man, having beaten most of his contemporaries to the paunch. He always thought of Ken when he heard Cabal in "Things To Come" calling war `an ugly spectacle of waist.' Finally there was Arthur C. Clarke, the 'C' in whose name stood of course for 'corn', the same corn we had stood for so long. Arthur was one of those people who know everything, including the fact that they know everything; though even Arthur had his moments of self doubt and could be sometimes heard saying to himself "I wonder if I'm really as good as I know I am." Of course we all knew his books--'The Exploitation of Space', 'The Yen Who Sold the Moon' and so on. He had recently found some excuse to go to America again and was now underwater fishing in Florida, engaged in submersive activities. After his experience of editors and agents he should be quite capable of dealing with sharks. In fact Temple was sorry for the sharks.

The main defect of Temple as a Convention speaker, in fact come to think of it the only defect, is that he doesn't like speaking (extraordinary in one who does it so well) and insists on being put on early, with the result that everything else is something of an anticlimax. However Tubb kept the standard high, cynically advancing the theory that the reason for the bookshops being loaded with sf was that nobody would buy the stuff, and disposing competently of an inane interruption about flying saucers from a character called Burgess' who resembles nothing so much as Hal Shapiro's conception of Ken Beale. (Other parallels which occurred to Bea and me were Bill Temple=Robert Bloch, Peter Phillips =GOSmith, and Dave Cohen=Henry Burwell. America doesn't seem to have any equivalent to Norman Wansborough.)

Other pros who spoke were John Brunner ( "I predict a rosy future future for sf - I have some more stories in my drawer'), Vince Clarke ("as half author of two books") C.S. Youd ("No time to read sf "), and Frank Edward Arnold ("Haven't read anything new for 12 years"). Apparently nobody in the London Circle reads anything but their own stories. Carnell then invited questions and inevitably Spillane was brought up, as indeed he must be by anyone with a sensitive stomach. Frank Milne tootook his opport- unity and rose up from the body of the Hall to flog a copy of "Sex and Sadism" to Carnell, who had been talking about it for ten minutes without having read it. Someone in the audience who had heard of semantics asked for a clear definition of 'bad'--- a subject which might have kept everyone talking until well into the Super- mancon had not George Hay got up and disclosed that different people had different ideas as to what good and bad were. Youd said It Wasn't As Simple As That. It was a difficult point, but he knew what it was when he saw it. Helen Winnick said coyly that she hadn't read the Spillane story in question because none of her men friends would lend it to her. An unidentified voice from the audience, who sounded like Havelock Ellis, said that all forms of literature were substitute activities for sex. However science fiction being more constructive was, he stated astonishingly more likely to produce an orgasm. Goaded by the Mystery Voice, Youd said sarcasti- cally that it must get a different thrill out of sf than he did, and for no apparent reason then went recklessly on record with the opinion that Bester's "The Demolished Man" was "just Spillane on a lower level". Fred Brown said he thought thought the Spillane story in Fantastic was 'jolly good' and he'd pay 35¢ for it any day, adding equally gratuitously that he wouldn't give tuppence for a Youd story. Someone in the audience whom we only knew as Sidgwick and Jackson then said something inaudible in a refined accent and Carnell asked him to speak up. Sidgwick and Jackson, in a near shout then announced that their sex life was satisfactory (I almost left the Convention Hall to send a cablegram to Francis Towner Laney) and resented the charge that sf was a substitute activity. George Hay, obviously determined to go one better than anybody, declared that sex itself was a substitute activity. So, he added sweepingly, was science. Proceeding into even higher realms of thought he said profoundly that it was a matter of,opinion what was essential and what was not essential. The human being selects his effective field. He wondered if he had made his point clear.

Obviously perturbed lest the Convention spend the next few days worrying it- self into a nervous breakdown over what sex could be a substitute for, Carnell hastily closed the discussion and made a belated introduction of another visitor from America, a Mrs.Sollieback of Seattle, Wash. (In fairness to Mr. Hay, though, I think I should say that in my opinion he was actually working towards a very sound theory first propounded by another Deep Thinker, name of me, when in last year's conreport I accused Ken Bulmer of sublimating his fan instincts with a woman.) Mrs. Sollieback from Seattle was, Carnell revealed, a member of N3F. Suitably impressed we applauded warmly. However I am sorry to say that Mrs. Sollisback seems to have detected a note of insincerity in our tribute, for in a letter published since in GMCarr's Gemtones she reports that "the N3F is not popular among the fans here." Presumably we should have bowed our heads and stood in silent tribute to the noble organisation, fixing the British representative over its grave.

Carnell then made the first public mention of the Fund that had been started by an American fan group to bring a certain English fan to the Philcan. The fan in question had been unable to go after a11 and Don Ford and the Cincinnati group had generously thrown the offer open to any other British fan we chose who could risk having to pay most of the cost himself. Carnell didn't disclose the English fan's name but I see no harm in saying it was Norman Ashfield, who hasn't been active in fandom for quite a while but who has evidently kept up his correspondence with his friend, Don Ford.

After this came the play by the Junior Fanatics, the Committee evidently having been unable to get something better after all. The production suffered somewhat from under-rehearsal, the hero living in Lancaster and the heroine in Bournemouth and neither having very strong voices, and it rather lacked the polish and brilliance We have all come to associate with Seventh Fandom. There were also some slight difficulties at first due to them having forgotten their own lines, but with a fine spirit of co-operation they soon overcame this by reading each other's. The heroine was a new fan called Shirley Marriott who looks like a brunette BRE of Lee Hoffman. She has the same first name too, but I'm afraid I never found how much further the resemblance went; these younger fans keep very much together and don't mix with us old has-BNFs.

Dave Cohen followed with an address on what was wrong with the London Circle and was so convincing that Chuck Harris changed his London Circle badge to a Belfast one before he had even finished. One of Cohen's accusations was that the Londoners didn't support the last Mancon and in his speech of rebuttal Brown promptly put his foot in it right up to the neck by saying he didn't know about the Mancon. Since the last London Convention had been virtually knee-deep in Mancon propaganda, this was an unfortunate defence. Bentcliffe asked with deceptive politeness whether Brown hadn't seen the notices. Brown pulled the ground in on top of him by saying, too craftily, that he hadn't been up to the White Horse much during that period. Bentcliffe patiently pointed out that the notices in question had been in the Convention Hall and that Northern speakers there had publicly asked for support and been given to understand they would get it. Angry murmurings from Northerners in the audience confirmed this. At this point Bert Campbell came in and poured oil on the burning waters. He apologised for being late, he said disarmingly, but he had been up until four in the morning discussing sex with some visitors from the United States. The Northerners, he went on, couldn't expect celebrities to come to their Convention ("Well, I'm a celebrity, aren't I?") unless they made it attractive and publicised it properly. He further endeared himself to Northern fandom by pointing out how well the Londoners publicised their conventions. (I remembered the time Alan Hunter wrote to me in Belfast four days before the '52 Con to ask did I know whether it was still on and did I know where it was.) You couldn't go wrong, said Campbell blithely, if you followed the London Circle, They didn't just stick some- thing on the wall in the hope someone would notice it. Fred Brown rubbed salt into the wounds by saying that the London Circle didn't have to pay anything at all for their publicity. (One wondered whether this meant the Mancon Committee could also expect free advertising in New Worlds, Science Fantasy and Authentic.) As illus- trations of their ingenuity he instanced the fact that they wrote to Eagle Comics (apparently without result) and designed a poster for a showing of "War Of The Worlds" (which was not accepted). One felt his examples could have been better chosen.

During the tea interval which followed copies were handed out of the Harris/ Slater 'Looniecon' oneshot, a supremely fannish production. I seem to have spent the rest of the Convention explaining regretfully that I had nothing whatsoever to do with it and that it came as a complete surprise to me.

I didn't hurry my flock back from the tea interval.... I'd noticed something called Whiskers in the program and I didn't want to be in at the death. This was a Thing I'd started while recovering from pneumonia, been too weak to finish, and had passed on to the London Circle to show that at least I'd tried. When I realised they were going to put it on just as it was, my only consolation was that people never listen to plays done over the PA system, when there are no actors visible to receive either applause or tomatoes. But when we did arrive, about half way through, I was astonished to find that they were not only listening, but laughing in some of the right places. I stood savouring this entirely new form of egoboo and realising I'd overlooked two things: the fact that audience reaction time is slower than that of readers, so that poor jokes go over well, and the fact that there are scme very talented actors in the London Circle. The piece was done superbly well, especially by Bill Temple as Winston Churchill and by Bert Campbell as Bert Campbell, this last a particularly fine piece of type casting.

After this there were various quizzes, discussions and games. Audience partici- pation was so poor as to be tantamount to a civil disobedience campaign, as it was all through the Convention. I think the reason was mainly that the weather was too hot for any form of exertion except jumping to conclusions; the principle ones seem to have been that the Convention was dull and the audience morons, and I don't think either was correct. Unfortunately I can't prove it, because it was apparently too hot for taking notes. It's a pity, because from the few I have it seems that quite an interesting variety of subjects was discussed. Bert Campbell said his own stories were years ahead of their time. Carnell said, "Poor fellow. He lives in a world of his own." Ted Tubb lectured on atom bomb protection, advising either brown paper or a very deep hole in the ground: Bert Campbell. said that authors were parasites. Youd said he had sold Carnell three stories that had previously been rejected from New Worlds. Someone said they knew a girl with three heads and a calf with wings. Campbell said old fans were jealous of new ones. Ted Tubb said anteaters wouldn't be accepted in the French Foreign Legion. (I don't know quite how anteaters got into this discussion about how to retire from fandom; maybe someone suggested the best way was to tapir off.) Ted Tubb also presided gloriously at the auction but I didn't take any notes of this either, having come to an agreement with Vince Clarke to let him immortalise Ted this year.

We'd been invited to a party in the Liverpool suite that evening but when I went up there I found it still empty, so we accepted an invitation from Bert Campbell, On the way Burgess appeared and tagged along, with evidently no intention whatever of crawling back into the woodwork. Campbell looked helplessly at me and I had an extraordinarily vivid sensation of deja vu, of having been in this exact situation before. As of course I had, and the heat and the long carpeted hotel corridors brought Chicago back even more vividly. It was that tightrope again. The inherent tendency of American-style conventions, as this one now was, is for everyone to gravitate in one enormous loud and drunken party, which no one really enjoys. The secret of enjoying oneself, on the other hand, is to gather together a few congenial friends and hide. Between the two alternatives stretches the tightrope, one false step on which means either frustration or the hurting of other people's feelings. I learned a lot about the tightrope at the Chicon and Bea is probably the foremost expert at it----notice how she has walked gracefully through British fandom, leaving them all at each others' throats for 'monopolising' her and not one of them blaming her----but Bert hadn't been to the Philcon yet. He couldn't think of anything but to open the door and usher everyone in.

The party was being held in Rita Krohne's room, since someone was having hysterics Bert's. There was no space here for anything like that----there wasn't enough room to swing a cat, never mind a cataleptic. The room was so small I wondered we didn't have to pay a penny to get in. I counted 26 people in it, and that was only the top layer. I arranged a code knock with James and left the Black Hole of Calcutta to reconnoitre the Liverpool suite again. On the way up I ran into Ken Slater, whom I'd met for the first time a few hours ago. We went, to his room, opened a bottle of whisky, and discussed the Transatlantic Fan Fund. Then we went up too the Liverpool suite. I'd only been there a few minutes when James and Made- leine arrived with the news that they'd all just been thrown out of Rita's room and that the rest of Bert's party had gone along to Soho to get something to eat. We decided to wait until they came back, but in ten minutes or so the same porter came along and threw us out of the Liverpool suite. Madeleine and James and I felt there was no future in this and went home to Rainham with Chuck, where we got to bed about three.

So ended British fandom's first gallant attempt at an American style convention. I felt a little guilty about it all since this movement seemed to have started after my glowing accounts of Chicago, but it still seemed to me that everything would have been fine if the hotel had had bigger and more soundproof rooms and a more tolerant staff. The fans seemed to take naturally to it. The Liverpool Group, for example, fought a gallant rearguard action from room to room, succeeded in getting the porter drunk, and made a historic last stand on the roof. There they invented an entirely new convention pastime, that of dropping empty bottles down chimneys. Admittedly the only reason this idea has never occurred to American fans is that their hotels don't have chimneys, but no one can deny that the Liverpool group have made a valuable contriribution to Conventionship, and one that is in the true Ben Singer tradition.

That's where I left this conreport three months ago, and despite numerous re- quests (well, two's a number, isn't it?) I don't think I'll ever finish it. Every I think of that second day I feel again that utter tiredness resulting from a combination of the heat, convalescence from pneumonia and driving 800 miles without my L plates. I still think it was a good convention, but I don't want to go back to it...except for a few stray memories. James White's helicopter beanie falling off, the coatstand at a Lyons and being returned to him by a dear old lady with "Is this yours?"..,.A copy of Slant 3 fetching 5/6 at the auction ...... Bea Mahaffey saying that Other World's editorial policy was "flexible" and I asking Vince prophetically if she meant the magazine folded easily ..... And that all night party at the Rattigan's......

Us True Fans had started a splinter party in the kitchen to get away from the poker players and dancers but our hostess was worried about us. About 4am she came in the immortal words: "THERE HAVE BEEN COMPLAINTS THAT NO ONE IN HERE IS DRINKING:" We denied the foul imputation. About dawn Fred Robinson opened the door to the living room and called us to have a look. It was like a morgue. Bodies lay here and there in what appeared to be advanced stages of decomposition. The sunlight wakened some to pseudolife and they stumbled out into the garden. We walked up the road for no apparent reason and then back again. Apparently everyone had thought everyone else was going somewhere. Bulmer took my arm and pointed at the rest of them. "Of course," he said, "These are all artifacts of Proxyboo Ltd:"

"I don't need a helicopter beanie," said Fred Robinson mournfully. "The top of my head just spins round."

THINGS WE HEAR ABOUT THE CORONCON

"The coronation decorations were fine... about the only thing that was fine about the Whitsun weekend, apart from the weather. There was some convention or other being held, but one could hardly call it a Convention as those sort of things are usually very well organised, This was very well disorganised. Scheduled to commence at 11 am on Saturday 24th May this so-called Con started at 3 pm and stuck rigidly to the unpublished programme. Oh yes, they do send you a programme... but that is only intended to convey adverts for O.F,, Nebula and the London circle. They could have left two clear pages for one to make out the programme as it happened; my copy now looks like the three - draws column of a football coupon, or the last page of a love letter. The film Destination Moon must have arrived at its destination okay: we never saw it at the con!"

"One of the best items in the programme was Whiskers, script by Walt Willis (unpaid ad), which concerned the growth of Bert Campbell's beard. It was enacted as a factual news broadcast, the theme being that Campbell - a well-known scientist who does not know what he has invented unti. rigorous tests are applied to the product - is asked to invent a depilatory. Campbell tests the goo on his beard which proceeds to grow at a constantly increasing rate. Despite the efforts of hastily conscripted gardeners, of flame--throwers, and even paddle steamers fitted with knives, the beard grows and grows, reaches Woolwich Ar- senal, flows into the Thames and. out into the Channel. The world is saved when Campbell invents a hair-restorer'."

"...after this Elron Hubbard appeared and did not give us a lecture on Dianetics, Thank Ghu!" ".,. was greatly tickled by the lecture given by two BIS 'scientists' who were rigged up as conventional absent-minded professors.

Bert Campbell went into a spiel about a new system of propulsion they had discovered utilising light. A blackboard was found and HJC proceeded to outline the equations of the technique. This took_ some time and eventually we arrived at BISTO/OXO = SOUP. Meanwhile the other character had been heaving stuff out of a suitcase and rigging it up on the tables: a length of board, a mirror, a space ship, loads of paper (I suspect that this was the SFNewS that Vince Clarke should have issued in January.'). The demonstration was then given. The ship was placed on the board, with the mirror behind; when a light was shone-on to the mirror the ship promptly took off. Very clever bit of faking... you couldn't see the elastic band...always supposing that there was one. Delving deeper into his bag, Bert started to produce some more paper, when the other character nudged him and pOinted down at the audience., "Russians;" they hollered, promptly stuffed everything into the bag and vanished..."

"An after-hours session was held in the hotel with the Liverpool group as hosts. Around midnight came the first of a series of visits from apparitions disguised as hotel porters; a dark satanic creature departed upon our promising "not to walk about on the ceiling any more". To fool further,emisarries of the management we moved to the room next door, where attempts at the composition of an sf masterpiece were thwarted by the high pitched, nerve-shattering giggles emitted by the head of O.F. who for some reason was trying to hatch out a bag of salt biscuits. Far more was accomplished with an 'Ode to the Stars'. It is possible to quote only the first stanza of this epic... "Down the street of a thousand space ships, By the sign of the empty pub, Wept a slant-eyed Chinese author, By the name of Volsted Tubb... "

".., Two hours and several bottles later, the second porter appeared on the scene. He was a man of mettle. After partaking of our whisky he still asked us, in dulcet tones, to "make less row". On his departure we decided that we should go elsewhere to give free vent to our feelings, And so we held the first ROOFCON. An hotel roof is the ideal site for a future convention we founds ready-made disposal chutes in the shape of chimney pots are invaluable. During this session notes of movements and "where to find us" were inserted under Bea Mahaffey's door, Next morning she inform- ed us that they will provide Shaver with material for at least a dozen novels".

"... she told me that around 3 am9 someone came rolling along the corridor chanting "Bea, Bea, glorious Bea!" and commenced knocking on the door of the next room. After some time the occupant must have opened the door to see.what all the fuss was about. "Are you Bea?" asked the reveller, "No!" came the irate reply, "Are y'sure y'not Bea?°" persisted the intruder, "Hell, no. My name's Hoskins.'° "Oh yeah?" came the peeved rejoinder, "then why did. y'open the door when I knocked?" Migod - so this is a British Con!"

(Based on material provided by our roving reporters Eric Bentcliffe, Jimmy Ivins, Eric Jones, and Volsted Greenblatt (hotel porter). In view of the usual alcoholic haze obscuring the view, we cannot vouch for the accuracy of all statements).

.........from ASTRONEER, Summer 1953

*LONDON CONVENTION 1953 REPORT
(* otherwise known as 'THE FIASCON')

Anticipation is often more enjoyable that the event -- and this certainly applied to this year's con. Months before, the Liverpool fen who were definitely going, had already decided to do the thing in style and hire a car, as a more independent means of transport than British Railways. Had we known better at the time, the money would not have burned through our pockets so quickly for such a poor return. We enjoyed the car ride.

SATURDAY

The first morning began with an enthusiastic looking crowd of fans setting up displays and visiting them; and an atmosphere of expectancy and good will pervaded the hall.

Fred Brown, Con Chairmen, announced at 11 o'clock that the Con- vention was now formally open and that until 2.00 would be 'informal sessions'. ((This was but the first omission from the programme, a forerunner of the interminable intervals yet to come.)) So exhibitors hurriedly completed their stands and dashed around the other tables to see if any other fans had stolen their ideas or if there was any worth'stealing, and there was a general mixing and meeting - somewhat tentatively it seemed to me - of fans who had not met before. Fans who had met at previous occasions were the first to break the ice, renewing and furthering their friendships. They introduced each other to freshfen, and a fan might have found himself passed round a bewildering wave of new acquaintanances, and forgetting most of them in the flurry.

This went on until people began disappearing to places of corporeal sustenance and things became temporarily quieter.

After lunch, the con proper got into motion with the intro- duction of some prominent SF personalities by Ted Carnell.

The first of these was Bill Temple which somehow never seem to pall, next was John Brunner, who spoke briefly on his introduction to SF and fandom; then came Pete Hamilton of Nebula; George Gallet of France, John Christopher, alias Sam Youd, nobody seems quite sure what to call him; Maurice Goldsmith; Mary Patchett; A.Vince Clarke, who told us something of his writings for the pro-market, and went on to speak about the backwardness of SF in attaining maturity in the eyes of the General Public. He doubted whether SF would ever quite attain the popularity which Detective Fiction enjoys, Frank Arnold was then brought to the microphone and he informed the audience that he had not read any new SF for about twelve years, and had stopped getting magazines regularly about 1934. He deplored the lack of originality in modern SF -- he'd read all the tales before, seen all the drawings before ((obviously an old, o-o-o-old pha-a-a-an!)). He wondered if the authors He wondered if the authors couldn't; get off the very much beaten track of edited magazine SF, and go straight to the publishers. The magazines, he reckoned, were stultifying the writers by their having policies and pulp taboos, `"Let's see if we can't get out of the 'chain-gang' of science-fiction writing," he asked us as a final plea. Ted Carnell Ted Carnell added to this that there was in recent years a trend away from the 'chain-gang' style and quoted as examples 'The Lovers' and 'The Demolished Man'.

Then Ted, giving a big plug for Dave Gardner's 'Symposium Of Sex and Sadism In Current Science-Fiction', invited authors to give the audience their ideas on the subject, John Christopher asked why Micky Spillane sold. He saw no advantage to having suggestive A saw no advant2f~e in having sug~,c~ive stories in SF mags, end plenty of advantages in not having them. It was a Bad Thing, he concluded. Mr. Hutton (USA), from,the audience, stated that SF was a substitute activity, and a lady added that if by injecting some sex into SF we Can introduce others into the field, then by all means permit it. The reply to this was that it was unworkable. The sales of the Fantastic in which Spillane appeared were due only to his name and that unless they published one in every issue, sales would revert to normal. Spillane would certainly not encourage a reader to explore the SF field further. A member of the audience asserted that whereas sexy stories gace one only an orgasm, SF has the depth to give birth -- to thought. Ted told us that he had received many letters from indignant parents, even on such innocent stories as had appeared in Nova Publications. Bob Fairthorne spoke a few words on the subject subject of pornography in general, "Good pornography," he said "is a very rare thing. It is very hard to write - and harder still to get hold of." (Laughter). John Brunner brought Shaver into the picture John Brunrm:.r brorzz;ht Shaver into the pictur~ and questioned why his stories should have caught on so well as he had no great story-telling ability. But then he admiitted to the fact that he had read only one and a bit stories by Shaver. Those who are drawn into the field through sexy stories do not increase the readership of SF; these readers simply sift the magazines and stories for the sex and disregard the SF' content, Science-Fiction gains nothing from them and loses much in prestige. Norman Normnn Wansborough added his opinion, and then another member of the audience (a statistician) said that he took exception to Mr Hutton's statement that SF was a substitute activity. "Thank you very much," he said, "but my sex life in going very well," He read SF for two principle reasons, 1) he liked to follow an author's logical argument from his primary suppositions and extrapolations, and, 2) he likes the stuff.

At about 3-15, Ted came up with some general information and news items. He told as that Mr. Soliback of N3F was present, thus making six representatives from the States. Then he announced a scheme being organised by Don Ford, for getting a British fan over for getting a Z;rftlstii fun over for the Philcon, or failing the possibility of that as the Philcon was so close, then the following year's convention in San Francisco ((??)) . Passage from this end would have to be paid, but would quite likely be reimbursed at the other side, from where on, Ted said, there would be no difficulty as to stones for pillows etc.

The Junior Fanatics, Britain's self-appointed representatives of 6 1/2th(?) fandom, then perpetrated, a play-reading, which was to have been at 3.00, and had been cancelled owing to an actor's absence, was shuvved back into the programne together with a volunteer who had offered to fill the vacant role at short notice. Unfortunately, it would have been better for all concerned if they had not attempted to do this, as no one seemed to know his or her part; missed cues and shuffled and dropped sheets ruined an already badly missfired but still heroic nKcempt to instil a littel variety into the proceedings.

Dave Cohen, at 3.15, bearing the flaming torch of Manchester fandom, tried unsuccessfully, as it was quite obvious to even his most ardent supporters, to rouse the rabble against the institution of a yearly National Convention in London. Points he stressed were the apathy of the London Circle, their unwillingness to aid other clubs and fanzines, "Have we got to ask the London Circle if we con hold a convention?" "The London Circle is a tight Circle." "We don't say that the London Circle shouldn't have a convention. We only ask them to help other centres of fanactivity to organise a con in the provinces, Surely it's not asking too much to ask them to support the provincial fans with their presence?" Another accusation levelled against the London people was their unpleasant _ness. And so on in similar vein. But his petulant tirade fell on the stoniest of ground. Fred Brown did not agree with anything Dave said, of course, and was the first to leap " to the London defence, "There is definitely no apathy," he said. And, We are a circle of friends. but we are not a club and so we have no organised body." Replying to Dave's comment on the lack of support by London at the Manchester Convention last year, Fred said, "You most write and ask the celebrities to come to the con. Personally I didn't know about the Mancon. Did you write to me?" (Ooooohs! from the audience), Cohen:- No. Eric Bentcliffe rose and said that on the Friday before the 1952 Loncon, a large placard advertising the Mancon was displayed at the White Horse and also in the Convention Hall itself...There were also hundreds of leaflets on it knocking around. ((In fact-there was one on every chair in the hall.)) Vince Clarke then denied seeing these ((tch! tch! Vince we're surprised at you)) and went on to say that he had tried to awaken interest in the Mancon amongst the White Horse crowd, but it was felt that the short time - one day - was not worth the time and expense involved for a Londoner. (Audience! hear, hear), Both Bert Campbell and he stressed the need for advertising. They even wrote to Eagle Comics about this Loncon, But they did not add the fact that their most profitable adventising came from their own magazines, Authentic and New Worlds, wherein they would naturally have it free.

((This fractious complaint of Dave's was no doubt veil intentioned, and too, was justly called for; but was most well- advised and led only to much wrangling and bitter feeling. The, Londoners believe of course that Dave is the spokesman for all the North - (just as McCain in under the impression that Willis-speaks for all Britain.) It was after this, and Campbell's evasive reply at length, that the rift was felt, which thereafter grew wider as the con progressed.))

The next item on the programme was entitled 'Whiskers'. This was in the form of a newsreel report on H.J Campbell's scientific researches and their results. Very amusing, and we intended to make extensive notes on this and bring you the full story, but we were informed that the full text would be published (in a post- convention booklet?). WAW was responsible for the script.

This was followed by an item omitted from the afternoon's programme, and brought forward - "Why Do I Read Science-Fiction". For this, Fred Brown picked out at random individuals from the audience to give their reasons. Among those who stood up were Dave Cohen, Brian Burgess and Bob Fairthorne, whose answer was probably the best - "Why do I read Science-Fiction? 1) because I can read, and 2) I like it, ((This terse answer was well appreciated by the audence.))

At half past five the games were started under the Games Master Ted Tubb. They took the form of a quizzing of ten volunteers from the crowd, who ware asked Such questions as: What is alcohol? What is a palimpsest? How many moons has Jupiter? (Upon which question there was considerable disagreement -- What is the latest score?) Etc. Then another ten persons were asked to step forward for another batch of questions on SF story characters, and so on. Which correct answer earned the winner a voucher for a bob or so which was good for con currency.

Before the auction was an original ballet starring Daphne Buckmaster, Dorothy Rattigan, Fred Brown, Ron Buckmaster, Charlie Duncombe and Ted Tubb. This was to the tune of ((rest of line is blank in fnz - Rob)) was rather fun, and one, of the few worthwhile items.

The Auction. These in former years have been regarded as the high spots of the programme this year they were an unmitigated flop. This was due to the lack of interesting material; which again was due in part to the poor response by fans to requests for donations. The vast bulk (literal) of the material consisted of BREs, which nobody wanted and if bid for, were returned once again to the auctioneer. Ultimately they were given aWay -- and even then rejected, until some stout scout ((a Junior Fanatic?)) in the gathering announced that they would accept all unwanted BREs for shipping to Australan fans. This was a happy solution and mags flew from all parts of the hall.At a rough count near the end, he found he had over 70 magazines.

Ted Tubb who usually officiates at this function, and was scheduled to do so, was replaced by Fred Brown very early in the proceedings, and one or two others who gave Fred a much needed rest. For a short time it seemed that the situation might be saved by the help of Ken Slater who struggled valiantly to inject some enthusiasm into a disgruntled audience. But even his optimism and drive waned when he realised that you,can't give away a sack of nutty slack to someone who wants coal.

We thought that the the BREs in such quantity was merely to get them out of the way before gettinng to the meatier and more worthtwhile stuff. But hours went by and still nothing of import turned up. The only items of slightly more interest were some recent ASFs, GSFs, and some hardcover books. These were presented as BIG THINGS. Eg.when coming to a batch of three ASFs containing the serial 'Gunner Cade', Auctioneer Brown announced in hushed ton.-I, "And now, - a collector's Item" Last years' mags - Collectors' items! Other 'Big Things' were hard cover books kindly donated to the Convention Fund by Graysons and other publishers. Also a big plaster model from Graysons of a Green Bem, but this was the very last thing to be auctioned and everybody had given up in disgust and left the circle of bidders.

The first night ended in a general scrimmage for half-crowns' worths of BREs, For 2/6 you helped yourself to an armful of the stuff from a table piled high with them.

Near the end of the proceedings on the second night, Fred Brown auctioned an unspecified colour painting of a spaceship, which might have been a Russian Icon or an old boot as far as the auctioneer was concerned. There was some half-hearted bidding and someone asked "Who's it by?" Reasonably enough. Tony Thorne who was holding the illo up for people to see what it was they were bidding for (surprising the number. of fan auctioneers who don't do this) scanned it for a signature, as the bidding went on. Up to about 2/6d. Then just as it was actually knocked down for this - as it turned out - ridiculous figure, Tony was heard to say "Rogers" in much in the same tone as he might have said "Now is the time ". Somebody in the row immediately recalled the source and said it was the original for the cover painting of one of the ASFs of the early forties. Department for Lost Chances...

On. the day after the convention, John was going round the now empty and very much littered hall, collecting the last few items from the Space Diversions display table, when he thought he would have a look on the stage, where the auction had taken place the night before. Therll. descriptions all over the place. He rummaged casually in a box of papers and junk and came across two scraper board illos. They were rather grubby, but nothing that a rubber would not erase, They bore a legend each. One "Tower of Darkness', the other 'Stability'. He cackled gleefully knowing they were from 1946 ASFs illustrating stories by Bertram Chandler.

These two episodes are mentioned because we think it shows how apathetically the auction was handled -- not knowing or seeming to care what the items there, and throwing away original promag illos. The three items here noted should have brought, in half a minute what it took an hour to raise through the selling of BRE Amazings and Fantastic Adventures.

The dancing which was scheduled for 10.50 to 11.00 on the first night was conveniently forgotten, as most people had drifted off in boredom long before.

THE ROOFCON.

About a dozen or so London and other BNFs had been invited to share some liquor in one of the Liverpool Group's rooms being our excuse for a really good informal. Four of these guests left after ten or fifteen minutes, when we were visited by a porter and. gently requested to keep the noise down as there had been a compl- aint. We never learned from whom; but the hotel was being, used at the same time for "The Queen's Army School Mistresses Reunion".

After White, Willis and wife had gone and the third bottle of whiskey, we had another visit from the hall porter whom we persuaded to swallow a glass of Scotch. We decided to move to a room nearer the end of the corridor to be further away from the sleeping populace of the rest of the hotel. Here, we found our numbers reduced to nine. Bill Temple had also left. There was, Frank Milnes, Jim Mooney and John and Norm, your editors, From Liverpool; Eric Bentcliffe, Eric Jones, Terry Jeeves From Manchester, Norm (the tub) Weedall ((who resides in Liverpool but only attends meetings in Manchester ... ) ), and last but certainly not least, Ken Slater. Frank and Terry were happily composing a story commencing, "The shleek red splace thip thrieked thilently thru the atmosphere." Somebody found they were sitting on the crisps. Everybody was happy and then another complaint. After some furious whispering and a promise to keep our voices low he left and then Norman S and Frank M. had the bright idea of using the roof. A Roofcon! The idea was wildly popular and with bottles and glasses safely in our pockets we crept as silently as we could up the fire escape -- roofwards!

Here we found that some of our number was missing and we latter learnt that Ken, Frank and Terry were having words with the staff in the hall. The last was persuaded to leave the hotel quietly and we saw no more of him that night.

Meanwhile we were wandering round the chimney pots and Eric was dropping empties down them, until Frank eventually mounted to the roof and told us we would have to drop the curtains on the party ((we must have been up there for fully an hour but to our accelerated time sense it seemed about ten minutes.)) So with reluctance we left the starlit upperworld and descended to the hall where we made a last stand for freedom. But the staff was made of sterner stuff and stood stolidly behind his desk, refusing to comment on the convention, our activities and as to where we could carry on a quiet(?) drink as long as we liked, Unwillingly, we separated and went our respective ways to abodes of sleep.

On the following night, those who were not resident at the hotel were refused admission to the bedrooms, even for the purposes of reclaiming one's properties. They would be brought down for you. After this followed another discussion with the night porter as to the quality of their service and hospitality to guests. I forget who it was who tried the other approach, but it sounds like Ken Slater's sound simple psychology. He asked man to man in a confidential tone, where one could go for a drink after the normal hours. (British Licensing laws and hours being absurd, the result of bureaucracy.) and was directed to the hotel opposite. We tried this but could not see any bar, so coming out we gave it up hope- lessly as a bad job and retired early to our rooms, well before purchased for a dreamed-of all-night-session, and were not consumed, for lack of cooperation and amenities.

Is there no solution to this problem in this country?

Perhaps we had better accept Willis's convention suggestion last year - Gay Paree. And that's where it's likely to be for us next year.

Sunday

The programme for this second day of the conventiOn was split up into two parts (Part Two and Part Three) as a second hall had been hired for an additional and optional programme. Unfortunately the film show which was to have been. the central feature of this extra choice, was cancelled owing to an oversight on the part of the organiser.

Apparently, it was on Thursday, the very eve of the convention, that the gentleman in charge of the film show, learned that the permission of the London County Council was necessary before one could hold a film show. He found that 24 hours' notice was required, and as it was Whit weekend it was impossible to put it through in time. Never was so much so badly managed by so few in so short a time and space.

The other item on the extra programme was the Medway Group's. This I believe was doing quite nicely when Fred Brown came upon the scene and drove a large number of attendees to the main hall where something was supposed to be happening. But when they got there, they were asked if they would be be patient and wait as they had been doing on and off throughout almost the whole convention.

And so the day dragged its weary way through desultorily presented items, for many of which the participants could not be found and the audience was exhorted to be patient and remain seated.

The most encouraging things which we can pick out for mention were the Guest Editors' addresses, editor of UNESC0, Bea Mahaffey of Other Worlds, and Peter Hamilton of Nebula, gave short speeches. These four made a very good sally and revived a little of the then almost moribund convention tone.

Les Flood then announced the Fantasy Awards(altho' he made a good speech,he sounded. very depressed about the whole thing but after all fanapathy does tell on one after a time, and he must suffer plenty)

The 'firsts' went to 'City' and 'Lands Beyond'.

The other event of the day was the sudden arrival of L.Ron Hubbard and his presentation to a completely unsuspecting audience. After pointedly remarking that he was "going to talk about SF" he went on to tell us in a roundabout way of his coming 250,000 word novel, far _removed,as he put it, from the usual blurb "book length novel" of about 20,000"

....from SPACE DIVERSIONS #7 (Dec '53)

MAHAFFEY AND HUBBARD AT LONDON CONVENTION

London, England. 29 May (CNS) - Six visiting Americans signed in at the yearly London Convention, held at The Bonnington Hotel, May 23-24, which averaged 152 attendees both days. They were Bea Mahaffey, editor of OTHER WORLDS, L. Ron Hubbard, Rita Krohne of Milwaukee, Bill Harding of Buffalo, NY, Jesse Floyd of Savannah, Ga, and Mr Solibakke and his family (NFFF) of Seattle.

Mahaffey and Hubbard appeared on a guest program together with Nic Oosterbaan, editor of Holland's new s-f magazine, PLANEET, Georges Galllet, Parisian editor, and Peter Hamilton Jr, editor Britain's newest s-f magazine, NEBULA in a question and answer session MC'd by John (Ted) Carnell of NEW WORLDS.

In answer to a question regarding Palmer's recent "fighting" editorial in OTHER WORLDS, Mahaffey stated that their magazine was raising the payment rate to 3cents a word. Hubbard stated that he was returning to the s-f writing field and that he was over halfway thru a booklength novel which he hoped to finish very shortly. Hubbard's humourous talk was chanelled strictly into the s-f field by MC Carnell, and the word "dianetics" was never mentioned.

In an earlier session Leslie Flood, Secretary of the International Fantasy Award Fund announced that Clifford Simak had won this year's fiction award with "City" (Gnome Press). Runner up was Cyril Kornbluth's "Takeoff" (Doubleday) and third place taken by Kurt Vonnegut's "Player Piano" (Scribners, NY and Macmillan, London). The non-fiction award went to Ley and de Camp for "Lands Beyond".

While many serious sessions were developed in the two-day Convention (outstanding of which was a floor and author-panel debate on SEX AND SADISM IN S-F), the Convention Comittee , headed by editor H. J. Campbell of AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION had concentrated on humor, and a number of brilliant and original sketches were staged in the Derby Room, largest of the two Convention Halls. Outstanding in this respect was the "mad scientist" act of editor Campbell and author Brian Berry, "serious" attempt of editors Carnell and Campbell to prove that only s-f editors were sane; an end-of-the-world radio playet written by Walt Willis concerning a beard which over-ran England; and a ballet-satire played by some of the London group - plus a very fine spaceship play written by Canadian Bill Morse and Londoner Terry Wright.

Unlike previous Conventions in London, most conventioneers stayed over at the Bonnington Hotel, and for the first time the whole atmosphere took on the semblance of an American Convention. Both Mahaffey and Rita Krohne were always surrounded by a wall of admiring fans, but managed to survive the incessant rounds of parties thrown in their honor. Champion crying jag was had by all when Mahaffey left London on Thursday for Paris - after a farewell party at London's WHITE HORSE TAVERN she was escorted by car with motor cycle outriders through garlanded and flag bedecked city streets to the railway depot, where fans packed the platform to bid her bon voyage. It was touch and go whether Mahaffey turned back - and stayed for good.