The 1957 World SF Convention, the first outside North America, was held at the King's Court Hotel, located on the corner of Leinster Gardens and Queen's Gardens in London's Bayswater area, over the weekend of Friday 6th - Monday 9th September. It did not officially start until Friday, but many fans turned up the day before for a gathering in the Globe pub that evening. The hotel is still there today but is now called The Caesar and the main entrance is no longer on Leinster Gardens but on Queen's Gardens.
In September 1957, Eisenhower was in the White House and Harold Macmillan was in 10 Downing Street. On Saturday 4th October, four weeks after the convention ended, the Russians would launch Sputnik into orbit and the Space Age would begin. The following report has been edited together from those written by Walt Willis and James White with a couple of minor bits from other places, in an effort to give as complete a picture of the convention as possible. After the prologue, my own notes and bridging pieces are in italics. Source notes can be found here.
Most of the photos presented here come from the collection of Norman Shorrock,
though this doesn't mean a particular picture was taken by him. Where recorded,
the collection others are from is noted in parentheses thus: (ejc) Ted Carnell,
John Beynon Harris has gone by that name in earlier reports but is referred to throughout here as 'John Wyndham' since as Convention President that is how he was identified.
Here are links to pages devoted to the individual days and also to
'sidebar' material connected with the convention.
Some of the original reports used to compile this composite one can be found at the links below:
As you'll know by this time, we've finally picked the Con Hotel, and do hope that for once we'll see you at a con. As the hall is rather narrow, displays will probably be done in lounges; this will mean that the stuff can be kept under lock and key, and under surveillance when open, if necessary. I've been wondering if there would be sufficient interest to justify a show of magazine and book rarities, and will let you know how the wind blows. Mentions of meetings at Eric Williams' Catford home before the War reminds me to point out an odd coincidence; Ted Tubb's home is now within 200yds of the old Williams address. BETTY ROSENBLUM: Whenever Michael and I contemplate a visit to London, we are always full of plans for which theatres we are going to, where to eat and, as for me, which shops to gaze into. The only slight blot on the horizon is the fact that we don't know where to stay. We have stayed in all three of Joe Lyon's gaudy, gilded, noisy warrens; and have not enjoyed our visits very much. We have also had experience of smaller places where the prices were very slightly lower than the ones already mentioned, but the service (?) was too condescending for our taste, and the request for a cup of tea at nine pm sent the staff into a panic.
So when details of plans for the London Convention arrived, together with
Came the dawn, I was amazed to find a very shabby, dingy place, badly in need of thorough cleaning,
not to mention decoration. There was a strong aroma which made my tummy feel very peculiar
indeed, but which I couldn't at first identify. After a while I realised that it was Cats.
Many of them, and cats which were not too particular about their personal habits. Then we
were shown to our room. Quite large, very high, with twin beds on which lay bedspreads
which looked as it they had only just been unscrewed from the ball and picked off the floor.
A decrepit wardrobe with one hanger. A dressing table covered with burn marks, a gas fire,
and a wash basin. It was this last item that caused me to remark to Michael that just
possibly the brochure which we had received was not quite accurate? The wash basin had once
been white, but was now dirty grey. It had a very large lump missing from the front edge.
That had probably been bitten out in fury by a previous guest who had tried to get hot water
by the usual method of turning on the hot tap, but finding that the hot tap gave only cold
water. Michael did find out later that hot water did eventually come through the tap marked
cold. Quite a novel arrangement.
By this time I was seething, but Michael who is always very forbearing, and anxious to look
for the bright side, tried to calm me down, and we went off to look at the West End, and book
for theatres and have an early dinner before astounding our friends by our sudden appearance
at the Globe. By the way, I forgot to mention that we had been supplied with a very small hand
towel each, and no soap, for the three nights that we were to stay.
After the first night at the place, where, incidentally and by now, quite surprisingly, we found
the beds very comfortable, we arose early so as to have breakfast and get to the Ideal Home
Exhibition in time for the opening. According to a list of meal times, the dining room should
have been open for breakfast at 7.45 am. It wasn't. At 8.00 am Michael went to the receptionist
to find out when we would be able to have a meal. At 8.15 am we were finally admitted by a
slovenly waitress, who proceeded to serve us at leisure. The choice of food at this hotel with
the French cuisine was corn flakes or porridge, and bacon and eggs. I'm very awkward with food
for breakfast. I don't like cereals, nor do either of us take bacon. I also find it difficult
to digest eggs first thing in the morning, but I do like a little fresh fruit of some kind. It
needs no preparation or serving, but there was no such thing in the place. Michael had very
indifferent porridge and ordered a boiled egg. When that came it had hardly been cooked at all,
albumen poured out of the shell in a most sickening way, and poor Michael just had to leave it.
The girl took it away, but didn't offer to have another egg cocked more thoroughly. There was
toast, marmalade, generous quantities of tea and coffee, and plenty of margarine, with 10%
butter.
The following morning was a replica of the first, except that Michael ordered scrambled egg, which
was not too bad. The third night we were there, our last, we arrived at the hotel at midnight, to
find that our towels had been removed and not replaced. This time Michael went down to the
receptionists desk and really gave them a few home truths, and the receptionist was most apologetic.
However it took twenty minutes and a visit from the housekeeper and another visit from the cheeky
chambermaid to get any towels, and apparently neither of these women thought that our complaint was
at all justified.
That night the place was packed mostly with American Servicemen. We were pleased
to note that there didn't seem to be any colour bar, but there was also no bar to any kind of
behaviour through the night. The noise was awful, of shouting, fighting, furniture being moved over
our heads, thuds up and down the corridor, and sundry unidentifiable squeaks, squeals and sounds. I
must say that I slept through most of the night, because it takes an awful lot to wake me up or prevent
me from sleeping, but Michael suffered all night and hardly had any sleep at all. From that point of
view, the King's Court Hotel is an excellent venue for a Convention. No-one will stop anyone from doing
just as they like. But I do advise anyone who contemplates attending the Convention, and who is not in
the very best of health to start with, to arrange for a nice long rest and a holiday afterwards. It was
without regrets that we left that hotel far behind us, and we will not return.
Can anyone recommend a clean, quiet, moderately-priced hotel in London, not too far from the centres of
entertainment?
MIKE ROSENBLUM:
The foregoing is a straight and honest account of our impressions of the Hotel
chosen for the London Convention later this year. I must point out however, that we are not the easiest
persons to satisfy and other people may say quite legitimately that sleaziness is a fair exchange for
a tolerant attitude. But since then I have had a tape of impressions and explanations from some of the
Liverpool group who have also sampled this hospitality, and moreover had a long talk with the hotel
manager. Apparently the hotel in "winter dress" does not cater for the same clientele as in its proper
season, is run with skeleton staff, and is due for redecoration and refurbishing at Easter. So perhaps
we caught it at its absolute lowest level, We hope so. But I think Betty will be amongst those not
present in September, and I am not too happy about attending myself unless I can stay elsewhere.
As Bentcliffe reported:
Somewhere around twelvish, Arthur locked us in for the night, and after
I'd gagged Terry's snores with a pillow I got some sleep.
Meanwhile, as later reported in SCIENCE FICTION TIMES #282:
Guests who enjoyed their hospitality, including hors d'ouvres,
canapes, and pineapple punch (strong!) were Mr. and Mrs. Charles
Leedham, Oscar Williams, Enid Williams, Forrest J Ackerman, Joan
Sherman, Anette Benjamin, Arthur Kingsley, Mr. and Mrs. Alex
Jackinson, Frank Belknap Long, Mr. and Mrs. Steve Takacs, Judith
Grad, Mr. and Mrs' Franklin M. Dietz, Jr., Mr. and Mrs. Harry
Altshuler, George Nims Raybin, Mr. and the brand-new Mrs. David A. Kyle,
(the former Ruth Landis), Fred Prophet, Dave McDonald, Donna Massey,
F. Srudnicka, Paula Valenska, Ray Benjamin and Edward W. Bielfeldt.
James V. Taurasi, Sr., Ray Van Houten and Stephanie Van Houton covered
the affair for Science-Fiction Times.
Mrs. Margulies was one of the passengers who left on the charter flight
the next day. She will represent Satellite Science Fiction and
Weird Tales at the 15th World S-F Convention in London.
On Tuesday, Jansen drove Jeeves and Bentcliffe to Amsterdam to greet their
American visitors, killing some time in a hotel before heading for the
airport. The KLM charter had first landed in London where it had disgorged
many of its passengers to be met at the airport by Ted Carnell, Ken
Bulmer, Brian Lewis, and Sandy Sanderson then whisked off by hired bus to
the convention hotel. The remaining passengers had then flown on to
Holland. Here's Terry Jeeves:
The Americans would be joining them in Antwerp the following day and booking into
the same hotel. They would barely have time to squeeze in a day or so of sightseeing because
on Thursday it would be time to travel back to London for Worldcon, and the pre-convention
meeting at the Globe.
Guest of Honour John W. Campbell was flying into London on Wednesday 4th September, and Ken Bulmer
proposed to meet him there and drive him to the convention hotel. However, it proved impossible to
hire a car at short notice and the task fell to Ted Carnell, who described what happened in a letter to
Bob Madle:
However, just as I was leaving the office, artist Brian Lewis arrived on his Vespa
motorcycle and immediately offered to take me out to the airport. Then ensued a rather
wild ride, which delivered me at the airport at 1:30 p.m., two hours before the plane
was due.
[This would've been Brian Lewis the fan artist from Gillingham and not the later
pro artist of the same name.]
From the time Campbell arrived, things went magnificently - the BBC interviewer had
arranged to record the discussion in their airport studio, and as John and his wife
came through the Customs we went straight into the studio where the whole interview
went very well indeed.
During the whole of this time I was still expecting to receive a message from Ken or
his arrival by car to take us back to the hotel, but as we left the studio the BBC
interviewer asked whether we had transport, and not having seen or heard from Ken we
accepted his offer to take us to the King's Court, where John as his wife were delivered
in fine style to the amazement of the delegates in the foyer.
|
(tj) Terry Jeeves, (el) Ethel Lindsay, (avc) Vince Clarke, (ww) Wally Weber.
Because of the sheer number of photos there are of this convention I have created a
number of mini-galleries in the text that will take you to more photos of a
particular part of the proceedings. Even so, I think I've used barely half the
available pictures. As always, a tip of the hat to Peter Weston for identifying
many of the people in these photos and for supplying most of them in the first place.
Unlike those at modern conventions, the badges used at LONCON were simple cardboard blanks
on which the name of the attendee was written (see opposite). They carried no artwork
or other convention identifiers at all.
