GALACTIC FAIR - THE 1969 EASTERCON

Sometimes, getting to a convention hotel is not easy....

An account of how we went to Oxford via Stevenage, Berkhampstead, Stevenage, Berkhampstead, Banbury, Oxford, Banbury, and backwards .... taking nearly 20 hours to get from Stevenage to Banbury.

[They were staying in Banbury and commuting the 30 or so miles to Oxford.]

We set off in the afternoon of Good Friday to Honda to Banbury for the weekend. Keith and Jill [Bridges] were to pick us up ... to give us a lift to Oxford, they in the meantime staying with Julia [Stone] just outside Banbury. I was togged up "like a Russian lady astronaut" - high boots, purple skirt, grey sweater, waistcoat and mac, and gloves. And helmet. The weather was beautiful, and we got as far as Berkhampstead, when the tyre burst beyond repair. So it was trailing back, by bus and train, tired and dispirited, leaving the machine in a garage window at Berkhampstead.

To be continued....

BERYL MERCER:

On Good Friday morning, Archie drove me to [Bristol] Temple Meads station (I can stand car-journeys which are as short as that!) dropped me off, and returned to pick up Peter Roberts, Alan Chorley, and a load of luggage, including mine. I had a very pleasant journey, and at the other end I shared, a taxi with a lady don who was on her way to Lady Margaret Hall, and who wouldn't let me pay my share.

So I entered the four-star Randolph Hotel, and ascertained that Archie had not yet arrived with his passengers. I felt furtively pleased about this, especially since I'd had to change trains at Didcot and had had a rather long wait there. I signed us both in and, after dumping my coat, boots and hand-case in our room, I descended to the lounge in search of familiar faces. I think the first one I saw was Jean Muggoch, a Con committee member. There were quite a lot of new faces at this Con, too - many of them attached to extremely interesting people. In the bar I made the acquaintance of Professor Tom Clareson, from Wooster, Ohio, and later of Glenn Sadler, a young American who was at that time resident in Edinburgh.

Ted Tubb, Daphne Sewell, Beryl Mercer behind registration table, Ken Bulmer talking with Chris & Christine Priest in rear

Archie turned up about half an hour after my own arrival, and soon after that we began feeling the need of some lunch. This we took in the company of New Zealander Mervyn Barrett, and student Geoffrey Cowie: recently-joined member of the BSFA. Let me say at once that the Randolph fully deserves its reputation for good food; all the meals we had there were delicious, hot, and of reasonable size. However, I understand that the prices to people who were not there on full board rates were somewhat astronomical. I remember the expression of stupefaction on the face of Chris Priest when he discovered that he was expected to pay 2s. 6d. for one cup of afternoon tea and a few biscuits!

As usual, we didn't see a great deal of the programme. We set up a BSFA table in the rear part of the Con hall, alongside the registration desk, and for most of Friday afternoon and early evening, we just sat there, doing an occasional bit of business, and greeting old friends. Actually, it wasn't only a BSFA table; it was also open for dealings concerning OMPA (me), NIEKAS, TOLKIEN JOURNAL, AMRA, THE HYBORIAN LEGION (Archie), and HEICON '70 (both of us.) Regarding the last named, there was quite an impressively-sized German contingent at Oxford.

ROY KETTLE:

I can picture the hotel pretty vividly, but probably wrongly; as I recall it had a sort of Gormenghastly magnificence with vast winding corridors and buttresses and things, but, in reality, it wasn't as big as later con hotels. I hadn't been in a hotel since a pre-pubertal visit to Weston-super-mare, and the Randolph took on an impressive quality that, together with my natural insecurity among three hundred strange people, had me showing a low-profile to begin with. I was sober too.

I knew only one or two of the fans there. I had had a peculiar correspondence with Archie and Beryl Mercer and the BSFA Bulletin. I knew Alan Chorley of the Bristol Group from Warwick University where he was a year or two ahead of me. Alan, prior to his gafiation (although he'd never iated in the first place really) had had the largest collection of unread SF books ever seen. Bristol also meant Peter Roberts and Greg Pickersgill, who would venture there from downtown Haverfordwest whenever the Walshes or the Mercers were giving drinks away.

After I'd dropped my load of WADEZINEs and spare socks in my luxurious room and had been given a name badge which ruined the lapel of my brown corduroy jacket, I was dragged by Alan to a seat in the hall next to Greg and Peter.

Alan Chorley, Greg Pickersgill, Anne Gill

These were strange people - certainly not engineers. Peter was quietly bizarre, a little aloof, and, to my mind at the time, extremely knowledgeable and intellectual (i.e. artistic). People with very long hair who made a habit of wearing outre clothing (pyjamas during the day) were uncommon, particularly among the short-haired, shiny-suited, white-collared fans of yesteryear, although Bram Stokes and, I believe, Dave Griffiths, were there (but some tit didn't put a membership list in the programme book). I can't recall saying much to Peter that con, except struggling vainly to impress him as usual with half-remembered facts of little relevance and less consequence. It wasn't until some five years later that I was able to speak to him with less than awe, although that probably wasn't apparent even to him. Greg was a different kind of different. He was more like I wanted to be: unsavoury, uncaring, degenerate, appropriately rude, apparently well-read, rebellious, well-stocked with SF esoterica, perpetually teetering on the brink of total alcoholic abandon, fannish within his own carefully defined limits, extremely and frequently faithful to his friends, a budding writer. Some things have changed in him and more in me but I'll say now, before launching deeper into the con and forgetting it, that Greg was certainly more responsible than anyone else, in fandom or otherwise, for being a part of my unaware self-finding at a time when I could easily have been dulled into an engineering non-existence or some other form of less-than-mindlessness. We "hit it off" from the beginning, but I couldn't say how. I spent more time with Greg at that con than now seems reasonable - us having just met and him being chaperoned by Roberts. But we were the only two people to go to every programme item. Funny how things change.

PETER WESTON:

Arrived at convention hotel around noon. Immediately overwhelmed by people I wanted to talk to. Saw Tom Clareson and Lars-Olov Strandberg (magazines 'Extrapolation' & 'SF Forum').

Phil Rogers, James White

German fandom out in force - met Waldemar [Kumming] again, and then Ken Bulmer, James White and Bob Shaw; saw, but missed talking to Brian Aldiss in bar. Eileen liked James White, she likes tall men! Glad to see GoH Judith Merril had arrived. Bet convention committee were pleased, too!

Met Rog & Arlene Peyton, also from Birmingham, the four of us staying in the same cold decaying hotel up the road. Can't afford prices at the Randolph. Had a meal and came back, met Daphne [Sewell] who said I was 'on', in half an hour. Did double-take, pointed out that panel [LOOKING BACK ON SCIENCE FICTION] was arranged for Sunday afternoon, but told imperturbably that programme had been changed. Bit annoyed about this.

Mike Rosenblum, Pete Weston, Don Wollheim, Walter Gillings

Found Donald Wollheim and Mike Rosenblum for panel, saw Bob Rickard and had quick check of his tape-recorder. Checked out own camera and impressive-looking array of BSA gadgets (SPECULATION [Weston's fanzine] covers the convention in sound and pictures - what a team!) Panel was OK in the end, although a bit turgid. Couldn't seem to get on to subject and ended up talking about early British fandom. Couldn't resist the opportunity to ask Donald Wollheim what he thought of New Worlds, was a bit embarrassed at results. Committee bungle rather spoilt afternoon, when I wanted just to meet people and drift around.

Intriguingly, Weston doesn't mention Gillings in this account, while Gillings doesn't mention Weston in his account of the same panel in COSMOS.

ROY KETTLE:

I must have arrived some time ... during Ted Tubb's chairman's welcome. That was in the days when con committees still had professionals on them.

Tubb would have officially opened the convention - see photo at top of page - by introducing the rest of the committee and the like.

Committee members Anne Keylock, Daphne Sewell, Jean Muggoch (mb)

Following that was the first episode of the Cosmic Quiz. This involved Ken Bulmer in his favourite pastime of standing up and shouting. He yelled out a sciencifictional question, then decided who from the audience had answered first. Not an enviable task. Egged on by Greg, I shouted out answers, although Greg, who knew more answers than I did, kept typically quiet except for larfing when I got one wrong ("Who wrote the Multi-man?" "John Russell Fearn." Collapse of stout party and end of civilisation.) These episodes continued throughout the con culminating in the great Cosmic Quiz itself which was made up of those who had shouted loud and quick enough to get on it. More of that later.

The next item featured "prize-winning films from the Trieste International Festival introduced by Philip Strick, Head of Film Distributors at the British Film Institute" one of which he claimed "said all the War Game did in two minutes."

Perhaps I shouldn't say it but the War Game still appears to be more famous than its forgotten rival, and I believe the War Game predated it anyway which could account for a lot. All I can remember is that it had a lot of birds in it. Very symbolical. ((One like Alphcville -- pretty stock but well done. A great satire on S & S -- part cartoon. Burroughs-knocking.)) The first I don't remember at all, and I'd never seen Alphaville anyway, which shows me up right away. The other was Corben's Neverwhere, and was worth some praise as you may recall from Novacon. (I hadn't read Burroughs either by the way). Don't make the same mistake as that loony Rog Peyton, incidentally, who raved about a film by "that great American underground cartoonist Roger Corman." Rog knows quite a lot about books though.

This was my first experience of films other than commercial, cinematic, or TV, and I've always felt that cons should make more effort to get esoteric (which doesn't necessarily mean boring) films instead of the usual ones that you can see several times a year at the local ABC or on late-night TV. Phil Strick has helped towards this but there still aren't enough.

unknown, Vic Hallett, John Steward, Roje Gilbert (ns)

At this point, and various other points throughout the conventions we went out for food. This was my first experience of typical con fare, not being able to afford the Galactic fare. However, Wimpys, Woolworths, though not Chineses, were my staple diet anyway, so it made little difference. The important thing was the heady atmosphere of this new camaraderie, of being special in a world of norms, even (then) of sporting my badge in public for a short time. Later we bought a supply of Choccies and apples to save too many minutes spent away from the hotel. (I also experienced the phenomena of Sunday and/or Easter closing of shops, which continues to surprise most fans year after year, reaching a ludicrous and laughable extreme in Birmingham, where, after numerous conventions there, we still spent most of Sunday lunchtime looking for somewhere to eat.)

BERYL MERCER:

The first programme item we did attend was (would you believe ??) the introductory Punch Party at 8.pm. Ted Tubb, Concom chairman, supervised the flowing bowl which was never more effervescent than he, and the 'ante-room' of the Con hall swiftly filled up with glass-clutching fans, hailing each other as they spotted faces which perhaps they had not seen for twelve months or more.

Ted Tubb serves up the punch

John Brunner introduced me to Kit Pedlar, a TV script-writer, who was to be a member of my 'Aunt Sally' panel the following day, and we went on renewing acquaintance with old friends ... the Shorrocks, and others of the LiG - Eddie, Norman, Tony Underwood ... Keith and Wendy Freeman, Michael Rosenblum (and we were so sorry that his vivacious wife Betty had had to go into hospital at that time), his son Howard and daughter Diane. Dave Kyle: also wifeless this year ... John and Joan Newman, John Roles, Peter Mabey, Ethel Lindsay - oh, and half a hundred more.

The rules of the Punch Party were laid out in the Programme Book thus:

ROY KETTLE:

This was a mingling session and worked well, like a vast slow-motion room party, with no fancy dress or hairy rock groups to interfere with quite a friendly occasion. Here I met Bryn Fortey and had the great pleasure of seeing him chat up Frank Herbert, rave about Dune, and buy the gentleman several drinks, unaware that he was not *the* Frank Herbert (and probably not even a Frank Herbert.) Bryn, despite his age, tendency to baldness, and filthy laugh, was also someone I took to very much.

Frank Herbert, H. Eiser, Ted, Carnell

These were people not thrown together by the hazards of education into some white-tiled college, or by parental pressure into endless church-going or by beefy prowess into frequent athletics meetings (yes, I was a superstar in my time) but by choice, because they liked fantasy, fantasising and fun. Great. Greg and I spent a ridiculous amount of time discussing science fiction. ("What about Anne McCaffrey then?" "Blah." "What about Fred Saberhagen then?" "Poot.") And drinking, although at future cons the SF would take more of a background role. Later, we watched Bram Stokes attempting to show us 'It Happened Here' and, obviously, it didn't happen there at all because ((after the film broke down for the 863rd time Bram Stokes called a halt and, without even telling us the ending ((sic)), left)). Still, it was a rare viewing of what we did see.