KETTERING 6:
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 Doreen Parker |
So we had a room party with Ted, Ken, Phil Rogers, Daphne, Jean, and Doreen Parker, and Ted's brew of apricot wine (very palatable, Ted - make some more for the Buxton Con!) and Marsala, and goodness knows what else, and Doreen finally said let's go and eat because I feel squiffy on this stuff. So downstairs we went to the George's pleasant dining room, where gradually most of the other attendees congregated with the same purpose in mind.
Including ourselves, there were six couples then present: Keith & Wendy Freeman, Stan & Marge Nuttall, Eric & Beryl Bentcliffe, Chuck Partington and his fiancee Lynda Howard, and Harry & Marie Nadler, who had brought baby Lindsay with them. Ron Bennett had not brought his Liz, owing mainly to their imminent departure for Singapore. I was sorry about this because I've never met Liz and now I'll have to wait three year for that pleasure.
 Harry Nadler and baby |
Everybody was very pleased to see Margaret Jones, looking fit and suntanned. And I think that completes the list - oh no, I forgot John Owen - possibly because he was on his own instead of being one of the familiar quartet. The other three - Peter Mabey, Eddie Jones, and Norman Weedall - were on holiday in Greece.
After a very satisfactory dinner and suitable wine, most of the company returned to the Devil's Kitchen to natter and drink. This is where The Tale of the Pimm's Number 1 Cup begins ...
No Convention or fannish gathering is complete, for me, without a Pimms No. 1. In the Devil's Kitchen drinks are obtained from a small serving hatch, on the other side of which is the bar which also caters for people in the larger, modern lounge. On that Saturday evening, two people were serving both batches of customers, and were obviously extremely busy. When the female half of the bar-staff, a Scotswoman, was able to serve those of us waiting at the hatch, I remarked wistfully, "I suppose you wouldn't have time to make me a Pimm's No. 1?" With sincere regret she confirmed that she was indeed too busy, so I had a Dubonnet instead. End of chapter one ...
During the evening Keith Freeman produced a tape-recorder and passed the mike round so that we could all record a message to Dave Kyle. A group of young people in the far corner were being happily noisy at the time, the girls chanting "we know where you've been!" every time one of the boys returned from wherever it was he had been. Dunno what, if anything, Dave will make of that.
Around midnight I decided to call it a day. I had a slight headache from the stifling heat and the travelling, and besides, I knew that I wasn't going to fall asleep with my usual ease - our room was right opposite the church and the church clock chimed the quarters. (One, two, three, all together now) "All through the night..."
Sunday 27th August
Oh brother, those *bells*! The next day was Sunday, so they had themselves a ball for about half-an-hour before Morning Service, and again before Evensong. I guess one gets used to almost anything in time, but they nearly drove me bonkers. We enjoyed our hotel breakfast, and a little later there was an informal sort of meeting in the TV lounge, at which were represented the BSFA (Secretary Doreen and Parliamentarian Phil); the ThirdMancon committee (Harry and Chuck); and the Order of St. Fantony (everybody else - including Terry Jeeves, who had arrived that morning with his wife, Val).
 Phil Rogers |
During the meeting, the door opened quietly, and a little elderly lady poked her respectably hatted head into the room.
"Come in, madam," somebody invited, "we're quite harmless."
She tittered nervously, looked around at us, and asked:
"But what are you all doing?" The way she said it, I think she suspected that we were all sitting around smoking pot and preparing for a bacchanalian orgy. Come to think of it, the atmosphere must have been a bit thick by that time, because shortly after the old lady left, somebody opened some windows, and five minutes later I was able to see the design on the wallpaper on the far side of the room ...
After the meeting, of course, everybody gravitated once more to the Devil's Kitchen, and liquid refreshment. I made another attempt to secure my Pimm's No. 1, but the Scotswoman was alone in the bar and as busy as ever, and seemed quite upset that she couldn't give the service that was asked of her. End of chapter two.
Yes - while I think of it, the service at the George was absolutely first-class. Every member of the staff with whom we came into contact was quietly friendly and anxious to please. Not servile, I don't mean that, but each person seemed to take genuine pride in doing his or her job as efficiently as possible.
The table service was impeccable; if your food wasn't cooked the way you wanted it, it was immediately whisked away with a quiet word of apology and replaced with another serving. The girls who took turns at the reception desk made one feel truly welcome. The little Geordie night porter was perfectly happy to disappear into the kitchen at 2 or 3.a.m. and produce hot coffee or tea for any number of fans. I think Marie Nadler would confirm that she never had any trouble setting hot water to heat the baby's bottle, and nobody's room party got jumped on.
I was all for being lazy and having lunch in the hotel, but I was nagged and bullied into "going out for some fresh air" with Daphne, Doreen, Jean, Phil and Archie. We were highly delighted to find a Chinese restaurant, very disappointed because it was closed, and then highly delighted again when a Chinese waitress, seeing us outside, promptly flipped over the "Closed" sign and opened the door.
Since we were the first customers, we had to wait for our food, but it was well worth waiting for. During the meal a curious incident occurred. A wild-eyed woman, her face clown-white with caked powder, her mouth a bizarre scarlet slash, walked in and struck an oddly-dramatic pose just inside the door. Her hair was pulled back in a silk scarf tied tipsy-fashion; she wore a lacy white dress and lacy stockings.
I took one look at her and turned hastily away; she was glaring in our direction and, as I said afterwards, I am nervous of people who are obviously in a completely unpredictable state, viz., drunks and nutters. However, she turned her attention to the group of giggling Chinese at the far end of the restaurant; in loud voice she sang something about "Let's laugh at the death of a clown"; marched up to the Chinese, announced "That's what I'm going to sue you for"; flounced out, and slammed the door.
Further comment superfluous, I think?
 Daphne Sewell, Jean Muggoch (photo Mervyn Barrett) |
After our meal we wandered back to the George and flopped, replete, in the Devil's Kitchen, where we found that Dave and Maureen Barber had arrived for a flying visit with their baby, Sara, just two weeks old. Some time later Doreen reminded Daphne that the latter had promised to 'do' the former's hair ready for the evening's banquet. We all trooped up to Daphne-and-Jean's room to witness the doing of Doreen's hair, and to lower the level of a couple of bottles in the girls' wardrobe. Ted Tubb and Ken Bulmer also joined this domestic little party. We sat around on the beds and the chairs and the floor, drinking and yarning in the hallowed manner of all room parties, and finally it was time to go and get ready for the banquet.
There were flowers on the long table, and candles in Liberace-type candelabras. There was the young wine-waiter - an impish-faced youth with a nice line in repartee when the occasion seemed to call for it. There were the efficient, silent-footed waitresses (one of whom looking very much like Jean Muggoch and she was a Scotswoman!) There was a big, jolly-looking man who asked us to choose our wines early please, so that he could chill those which required it. (I think he was the George's manager.)
And there was food. Beautifully cooked, deftly served, and huge helpings of it.
 Keith Freeman, unknown |
At the coffee stage the candles were lit. Keith got called on for a speech, which he made neatly and briefly, leading into the usual toasts. Ron Bennett also got a "Bon Voyage" toast, and camera flashlights began popping all over the place.
Afterwards Archie and I went for a quiet sit in the cool, dim, TV lounge - no-one was viewing as it happened. I remember that Ken Cheslin was sitting in a corner of one of the big settees, softly singing folk-tunes to himself. Terry and Val were there, and whenever Val or I recognised one of Ken's songs, we joined in. The Salford group was also there - including Marie who had unfortunately, been obliged to eat her share of the banquet in her room, because the baby was fretful with teething troubles.
Occasionally we would hear a weird kind of accompaniment to our singing drifting up from the street and through the open window. Bells. No, not the brassy clangour from the church; tinkling, rhythmic bell-music. Flower-children, trotting past to a summer evening's 'frolic in Wickstead Park.
I think it was Jean who finally came in, saying that she had been sent to find us, and we were all commanded to a room party in Keith-and-Wendy's room. Thither we went, to find Ted in good form, orating fluently in the inimitable Tubb Style. I managed to get an argument going - I forget what it was about, because I've had so many arguments with Ted. Not because his views and mine are diametrically opposed on every discussable subject, mind. Simply because he's fun to argue with.
I think it was during this party that Doreen described a girl of her acquaintance as having "a lovely junesco figure".
About 2 a.m some of us decided that we'd like some coffee, so we toddled downstairs to the Devil's Kitchen, where the night-porter hurried away to get some. And popped in later to ask us if we 'd like some more ... Ted, who had earlier been having an argument with Ron Bennett, started up the same argument with Phil, who hadn't been present at the earlier one. I reminded him - Ted - a couple of times that he had to be up early, next morning; Ken Bulmer had retired several hours before. Daphne had to be at work in London at 10.30.a.m. (on Bank Holiday Monday, if you please) and had said that anybody who wasn't ready to leave by 8.30 would have to make his/her own travelling arrangements. And she meant it. But Ted was still going strong then I plodded upstairs at about 3 a.m. Archie came in about half an hour later and wanted to know why I wasn't asleep yet. The chimes from the church drowned out my reply.
Monday 28th August
Ken Cheslin had offered to take us as far as Rugby as long as we and our assorted luggage could squeeze into his red Mini with him, Ron Bennett, and their luggage. (He was taking Ron as far as the Midlands, too.) Then the Jeeveses offered to take Ron even further North, so Archie and I managed to persuade Ken to come and spend a few days with us in Bristol before returning to his teaching college in Doncaster.Not wishing to keep Ken waiting, we were down to breakfast fairly early - but not as early as the London-bound quartet - including the indefatigable Ted. We waved them off, went up to Ken's room to tell him that he would miss breakfast if he didn't get a move on (I don't think he really appreciated, our kindly thought), went to our own room and finished our packing; had a chat with the two pleasant maids who were stripping and re-making beds; and finally carted our baggage downstairs. Archie paid the bill, and we began to walk through the modern lounge towards the car park at the back of the hotel.
Suddenly the Scots barmaid darted out from the bar and demanded of me:
"What happened to you last I'd got everything ready to make your Pimms Number 1!"
Oh, the shame of it! Gorged with good food, commanded to a party, getting involved with verbal fencing, with Tubb and I'd forgotten all about my traditional tipple. I said that if she was still there next year, I'd see her as soon as I arrived and put in a definite order.
Apart from the heat, we had a good run to Bristol, but unfortunately Ken changed his mind and decided to go straight to his home in Stourbridge. Being unable to persuade him to stay, we took him out to the Lunar Restaurant, bought him a meal, set him on the right road, and regretfully watched him go.
It had been a most enjoyable weekend. Next day I went on a diet.
And next year I shall buy that Scots barmaid a drink. Preferably a double.
Intriguingly, I have a couple of photos labelled 'St Fantony Weekend' one of which includes Peter Mabey. Since Beryl notes his absence in her report - he was holidaying in Greece - this suggests there may indeed have been a second one of these weekends, which would take the number of fannish events held at the George up to eight. As yet no record of such an event has been found.
List of attendees:
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Dave Barber Maureen Barber Sara Barber Ron Bennett Beryl Bentcliffe Eric Bentcliffe Ken Bulmer |
Ken Cheslin Keith Freeman Wendy Freeman Linda Howard Terry Jeeves Val Jeeves Margaret Jones |
Archie Mercer Beryl Mercer Jean Muggoch Harry Nadler Marie Nadler Lindsay Nadler Marge Nuttall |
Stan Nuttall John Owen Doreen Parker Chuck Partington Phil Rogers Daphne Sewell Ted Tubb |
| MAIN |