TONY ROGERS:
After dinner I returned to Ted and Dave's room in the Con hotel, where I promised to assist Fred with his fancy dress. While
there I watched Dave Rowe preparing his costume, or rather being prepared for it, since, allowing his artistic tendencies to
run away with him, he was going as the Illustrated Man.
FRED HEMMINGS:
Actually as Mr. Dark - same difference.
Fred Hemmings
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Dave Rowe
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SAM LONG:
I dined with Joanne Burger and afterward went to the fancy dress party. Alas, it wasn't as good as last years. Something of a
pity that I couldn't find something to top Pontius Pilot. I was tempted to step up there, in mufti and announce myself as the
greatest fantasy writer of all time — a weather forecaster, or else get a weightlifter outfit and a Howie Rosenblum mask to go
as C.S. Lewis' That Hideous Strength but I didn't. Hazel Reynolds went as Florence from The Magic Roundabout and had the devils
own time trying to find baby shoes large enough for her. Fred Hemmings went as a red white and blue...
FRED HEMMINGS:
Not to mention green brown and yellow.
SAM LONG:
...grandfather clock - The Technicolour Time Machine. He won a prize for his originality and the audience gave him a big hand.
His slow progress up the aisle in his outfit — how fast, after all, can you go with a cardboard box around your ankles — inspired
the following:
Old Fred Hemmings' clock was too large for the shelf
So it stood all weekend on the floor.
It was taller by half than the trufan himself
Though it weighed not a kilogram more.
It was made on the morn of the night 'twas to be worn
And was always his joy and his pride.
But he stopped, short, never to move again
When he got, in, side.
Fred Hemmings, Linda Lewis, Linda Shorrock, Dave Rowe (pm)
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TONY ROGERS:
Building the costume around Fred (it was that massive), I conveyed him into the hall and pointed him down the aisle. It was
hilarious because he couldn't manage more than a shuffle and he literally stopped the show while waiting for him to reach
the dais. How he managed to see where he was going was a puzzle. It was even funnier when they tried to get him up the steps
onto stage but this proved impossible. They finally gave him a special award for what was obviously a lot of work (they
should have had him judged by an architect). The costume was eventually abandoned somewhere in the hotel.
FRED HEMMINGS:
Actually it was grabbed by Ratfandom for some nefarious purpose known only to them. I gather it wound up on the roof.
Mike Fox, Marsha Elkins, Tom Hogan, Pauline Dungate, Hazel Reynolds (pm)
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PAULINE DUNGATE:
Enter gaudily regaled participants. The brave amongst us proudly face the blinding crossfire of wicked flashguns. Roped in
comes a closely-knit fan group, distantly followed by a tottering Technicolour Time Piece.
FRED HEMMINGS:
Time was obviously not on their side.
Tony Walsh (gp)
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Jim Lavery
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Linda Lewis
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TONY ROGERS:
It reminded me of Heicon [the 1970 Worldcon, held in Heidelburg], where Poul Anderson's daughter, Astrid, went as the Frog
Princess. Took days for the green
colour to wear off her. We carried Fred's costume down to the Committee room on time, not that it made any difference of course,
the show was late starting. Waiting there meant that I missed most of the early part but there was compensation for I had a
close-up view of the other contestants waiting in the room. Many and ingenious they were too. Dave Rowe got a few extra
decorations as the make up of Gollum was definitely not colour fast. Of the two Planet cover girls I preferred the more
covered version but I seemed alone in this. After all, to take the legalistic view, no costume is no costume, even if she
did provide some comic relief by requiring emergency repairs to her metal bra.
Ted Tubb hoists Marsha Elkins
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Eddie Jones to the rescue (pm)
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PAT & MIKE MEARA:
The Fancy Dress parade [had] a small entry but a higher than usual overall standard, we thought.
Photography was difficult because of some nut with a dazzling cine-light. High spot of the proceedings was Ted "Tarzan"
Tubb hoisting the Spirit of Planet Stories over one shoulder and pretending to make off with her. She landed unhurt, but
with some damage to her metal fittings, ably repaired by Eddie Jones with a pair of pliers.
Jim Lavery, Linda Lewis, unknown child, Mike Fox, Pauline Dungate, Hazel Reynolds (mb)
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SAM LONG:
After the fancy dress we had the Delta Groups film festival which was a great success. Several amateur films (of vastly
differing quality), were shown, all of a fantasy nature. One was about everyone dying except two people who then come
close to killing each other in cars. The hero comes out of hospital to find dead people strewn all over the street and
cars up on the pavements. It must have taken a great deal of time and trouble to get extras lying down and playing dead,
not just on one street but on many.
TONY ROGERS:
We were asked to vote for the most entertaining of the Delta films but I didn't because I disliked them all, for one reason
or another.
'And on the Eighth Day' had a very pessimistic attitude and was a mass of cliches. In fact it looked as if someone had tried
to construct a script out of nothing but — succeeded, which produced massive heckling. Foghorn Fred's voice being noticeable.
Anyhow, is Calor Gas poisonous?
'The Horla':, based on a Dennis Wheatley devil worship situation was expertly made, almost professional in quality, even if
it did telegraph the sisters involvement but it had a depressing outcome — I expect my heroes to win!
'The Visitors' had more telegraphing — it was simply a matter of time before he lost his pills and a very unoriginal way he
did it too.
'Captain Celluloid v The Film Pirates' was banned from the voting because it was out to make an honest buck. An episode from
an adventure serial it was another reminder of Saturday mornings.
'Purchase of the North Pole' was constricted by its format — a Verne story needs time to unfold and time to explain it. Lack
of either produced something the audience enjoyed, but not in the way intended.
Following after came the professionals, if such can be said of 'Fine Finny Fiends', a Batman saga and surely a startling
example of a deliberately badly made
Visiting US fans: Linda and Al Lewis with offspring... (mb)
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...and Al de Bettancourt (l-o)
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SAM LONG:
Final organised event of the evening was "Barbarella": as you know this was a French comic strip of faintly pornographic
character before it became a movie. I've read the book in translation and enjoyed it muchly. The film was, well, not as
good as the book but still most enjoyable, decadent, full of the most interesting (and kinky) special effects. I daresay
the film wouldn't have been so coy if it had been made today.
PAT & MIKE MEARA:
We stayed to watch the first reel of "Barbarella"
(no prizes for guessing why), then wandered into the lounge and got into conversation with Arthur Cruttenden, Dave Rowe, Hazel
Reynolds, Brian Hampton and two others whose names we've forgotten. We ate Dave's biscuits, marvelled at Arthur's consumption
of Brian's whisky, and talked about sundry things. We later learned that this lot were involved in the notorious
round-the-walls-before-breakfast marathon, obviously the result of some little-known side-effect of eating Brian
Burgess's pies.
Tech 1972 style. Waldemar Kumming, Gerald Bishop
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PETER WESTON:
"This will probably be the last time that you'll see fanzines like these for sale
at a British convention," I said, "and if we must sell our heritage then I intend
to get a good price for it."
Or similar words. That was what I said at the opening of an impromptu fanzine
auction on the Satuday night at Chester during which I sold a large part of what
I believe to be the B.S.F.A.'s irreplaceable Fanzine Foundation.
In 1970/71 or thereabouts a Northern fan by name John Muir
acquired the FF from Charlie, seemingly without the authority or consent of the BSFA who
indeed had until very recently completely 'lost' the collection.
Here the story degenerates from fable into hearsay. When I protested to the BSFA Chairman
at Chester that the fanzines about to be auctioned appeared to belong to the BSFA, at least
in my opinion, he evidently confronted John Muir who 'explained' that these were only
duplicates and/or part of his own collection which had been sold to him by Charlie Winstone.
The BSFA believed John Muir, and so instructed me to proceed
with the auction. After making the position clear to the audience I did so, and though I
shouldn't say as much, had a great deal of fun in selling off the more valuable items as
well as trying to provide grab-bags which everyone could afford.
Initially I had to share time with the artwork and old book-merchants, but it quickly became
clear that it was fanzines which were wanted, and a sort of hush descended on the hall when
everyone heard the sort of prices being offered. "Eight pounds, nine pounds, gone" for
Hyphen 1-13, and similar amounts for the other two parts into which I broke the set, Mike
Meara managed to acquire one part, Joanna Burger gleefully snapped up the others and nearly
everything else going.
Poor Peter Roberts, destitute student that he is, tried so hard to empty his pockets for
prized items (and I tried to let him have some of them) that the audience gave him a round
of applause when he finally succeeded in gaining an almost-complete set of Skyrack. The
books and artwork were forgotten; the auction went on for two hours and raised, I think,
over £60. (Hyphen went for either £17 or £27; I forget which. Jim White and Bob Shaw were
duly incredulous.)
Here is the joker, however. After the Con I heard by word-of-mouth (which may be incorrect,
don't forget) that John Muir had not donated his (?) fanzines to CHESSMANCON after all. Oh
no. He had offered them for auction on the understanding that the ConCom kept 15% of the
proceeds, the rest going to him. Now this is a statement which I have been unable to check,
but if true, it makes me wish that I had given the things away!
John Steward, James White (l-o)
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JOHN STEWARD:
After the amateur films and Barbarella things began to get a bit hazy (too many light ales?). However, I somehow found myself
at the Irish fandom room party along with Bob Shaw, James White, uncles, aunts, wives, leprechauns, fans, spirits (disembodied
and the other kind), and various other attendees from the Emerald Isle. It was at this party that I was handed a glass of
something which looked deceptively like tap water but was, I was solemnly assured, 170% proof. Saturday, or rather the early
hours of Sunday morning, ended with Vic Hallett and myself staggering peacefully through the streets of Chester and being
questioned by the local Fuzz as to the contents of our brief cases.
ROB HOLDSTOCK:
During the evening of Saturday what apparently was the only well-attended PUBLIC room party got under way. It was a
MACROCOSM-ZIMRI joint celebrative party, but somehow MACROCOSM didn't contribute anything.
Something I shall never understand—how did I get away with THAT? The room was crammed. A mixture of South African Sherry, gin
and beer reduced me to a mindless-profaner (okay, okay ELEVATED me to a mindless profaner) and I have vague recollections of
allowing my mouth to talk to Brian Aldiss while my mind tried to sleep the drunkenness off. Every so often a black phallus
waved under my nose—I recognised a microphone and roared abuse and obscenity into it, which I thought was great fun at the time.
In the murk, shadow, obscurity of the room, away from the radiance emanating from the booze corner (where most of us were crammed)
were vague shapes - Brosnan, the black bearded Australian myth. If a typical Aussie is six foot three, gigantic, cool, scar-faced,
then John is a real individualist. His new book 'A Thousand Ways To Improve Your Performance With A Didgeridoo' is to be published
later this year. His sole contribution to the raucocity of the party was the constantly-repeated word: Embarrassing. Directed at me,
he only said it when I was talking, which is why I mentioned it.
Hiding under the bed, plotting serious questions, was Mervyn Barrett. I recollect clearly how, every time there was a conversational
lull, he would pop up like Jack-in-Box and direct a machine-gun burst of questions at celebrities.
Sadie Shaw, Brian Robinson, Rob Holdstock, Bob Shaw, Don Malcolm, at room party
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BOB SHAW:
The reference to a room party brings up an interesting point, concerning the very noticeable lack of them at Chester. Peter Roberts,
writing a con report in VECTOR (who also, by the way, got in first with the title I was going to give this report), says the reason
was that the hotel bar was open most of the night, but I disagree. The big attraction at a room party is the company, not the liquor,
therefore the bar being open wouldn't make much difference. I think that 1972 was simply the year of the jackpot for British conventions.
The room parties are a vital part of a convention, yet we tend to leave all the work and expense of them to a small dedicated band who
have thrown open their rooms for many, many years with little sign of a relief column emerging from the ranks of newer fans. There was
bound to come a time when the perennial hosts would say, "I'm tired - let somebody else hold the party this year, and we'll go to it."
And there was bound to come a time when all these good fans would experience the same reaction in synch. That time was Easter 1972. I
am more guilty than most fans in this respect because I love the room parties and have done since the Festival Con in '51, yet it
never occurred to me to act as host. The thought has occurred now, of course, and next year New Irish Fandom will hold a party which
we hope will be among the noisiest and most crowded on record. But, as the late night room parties are obviously so important to the
success of a con, should our thinking on them not be taken a step further? Should some room parties not be made official or semi-official
events with some backing from the committee? The fans lucky enough to be invited regularly to the existing "exclusive" type of party may
see little point in the proposal, but it could mean that many conventioneers who aren't members of in-groups could get a lot of extra
enjoyment and be brought further into fandom instead of having to drift off to bed like Cinderellas at midnight. At US conventions the
big fan groups actually advertise their parties in the programme leaflet and - whatever the drawbacks of such a party may be - there is
no doubt they promote our old ideal of a science fiction fellowship. It's just a thought.
SAM LONG:
I found a room party, whereat I stayed and drank bheer for several hours, consuming enough to get me high but not drunk - a
pleasant state of affairs - and I really enjoyed myself. Why, I even thought John Brunner was talking sense. Maybe he was.
It's he who should have gone to the fancy dress with a wagonload of busts of the Chinese leader - John, carter of Maos. Finally,
after a last drink downstairs, around fourish, serenaded by a bunch of half looped fen singing a particularly obscene rugby song,
I stumbled out the door.
John Piggott, Dave Douglass, Sam Long, Ian Williams, John Brosnan
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PAULINE DUNGATE:
Rooms have been abandoned; only the intrepid remained. While the liquor flowed they had serenaded the night and a long-suffering
barman, tastefully accompanied by the strumming of a guitar. Now, as dawn's cold fingers touch the sky with grey, our heroes,
newly come from their battle against fatigue, stroll langorously along the rampart walls of this ancient and modern city.
Behind them, the sane sleep soundly.
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