Sunday 10th AprilHARRIS:I slept like a newborn babe for every minute of four hours. Arthur didn't sleep at all - there were chimes on the church clock across the road and every 15 minutes they played a couple of chords to him. We got up, thought out this issue's cover [ie. HYPHEN #14 which his report originally appeared in] and a couple more cartoons whilst we washed and shaved (never a minute wasted on this fanzine), and then went to breakfast and onto the George for the Sunday session.
ALLEN: The sun shining straight onto my face through the window woke me up at 8 am. After I had washed away the groggyness and woken Ron we went downstairs. Ron went off to the dining-room for breakfast but all I wanted was a nice cup of coffee so I sat in the 'Devils Kitchen'. (I presume that this lounge got its name because it was decorated with ancient swords, muskets, armour, choppers and even man-traps - it was a great pity all this stuff was nailed to the walls.) Already other fen were in the lounge and heartily chatting away about the previous day. I sat down at a table with Archie Mercer, John Hall, Nic Oosterbaan and John Ashcroft. Later on we were joined by Peter Hamilton and Shirley Marriott. The conversation ranged from religion, to 'Nebula' and then to ships in bottles. (I never did figure out how the latter got into the conversation.) Towards 11am fen were drifting to the con hall for the Jazz Session. I went along too but on entering the hall I found it far too cold for my liking so returned to the lounge only to find Bert Campbell and Ted Tubb had replaced Mercer and Oosterbaan. I stayed with them until noon and then went out for my dinner. HARRIS: There was an impromptu jazz session scheduled for the morning, but I was in no shape for anything above the pianissimo ranges. I left the others to it and went back to The Royal for another helping of aspirin. Pete Taylor was there and had just had the bar opened so that he could drink his breakfast. He asked me what I wanted, but the bar-tender never seemed to have heard of Alka-Seltzer or Sheila O'Donnell and I wasn't very interested in anything else. ALLEN: When I returned to the hotel at 1.30 I went into the con hall and wandered around talking to pro and fan alike until 2.20 when Ted Carnell opened up the day's programme by talking about the 1956 World Convention. London hopes to get the vote, but if not, then it's Kettering again in '56. When it came to a show of hands everyone present wanted London to be the site for the '56 World Convention so now it only remains to be seen how the Statesiders take to it! Next on the programme was the author of the year award and Ted Tubb got this. Ted said, as he fingered his beautiful rocket-designed-table-cigarette-box: "I am too choked with emotion to give a speech, but, next year I hope to be receiving another just like it." EYE won the award for the most popular fanzine and Vin¢ Clarke took the prize in place of Stuart Mackenzie who has gone gafia. 3.15 came and the auction started ... Unfortunately I could not see it out as I had to go to the Kettering railway station to check train times back to Newcastle. The only suitable train for me was at six am Monday morning, this meant I would have to stay in the hotel overnight and not wanting to trouble Ron another night I got myself a room on returning to the hotel.
HARRIS: The only part of the programme that I attended on the Sunday was the Auction. Most of the people in the hall didn't have any money left to bid for anything, but were there for the same reason as myself - to see Ted Tubb in action. It's all strictly ad lib stuff - he doesn't have the slightest idea what he's going to say before he climbs onto the stage, - but once he gets going he keeps the audience roaring with laughter until he has to pause for breath or beer. He has an infallible sense of timing, but it is impossible to quote him fully because he talks almost as fast as Danny Kaye. Ken Slater took over for a while so that Ted could get a drink and then he was back again and helping Norman George Wansborough onto the stage. Ted had primed him with a couple of drinks beforehand and when he asked "Shall we castrate him and sell him?" we all thought our Poet Laureate was the next item for the auction block. I told Sheila that I'd buy him for her, but she wasn't very enthusiastic - she had nowhere, to keep him and she doesn't greatly care for poetry. However, Norman George wasn't for sale - his price is beyond rubies. (I'll tell you about Ruby some other time.) Ted had promoted him to assistant auctioneer and was busy teaching him the tricks of the trade. It was fun to see the stolid, earnest Wansborough with his broad Wiltshire accent trying to imitate Ted's quicksilver patter, but he did vindicate himself towards the end. He held up six battered AMAZING BRE's, laboriously fanned them out like he'd been shown, and then picked up the one that he dropped. "Ah'll tell 'ee what Ah'll do," he said. "Anybody offer me thirty bob for this lot and Ah'll throw in Shirley Marriott."
The Bournemouth Belle nearly fell out of her seat at this, but she was laughing along with the rest of us. Too bad I'd already read those six BRE's though....... After the auction we just had time for some tea before Walt and Madeleine, and Arthur and I, had to leave. The others still had one more night to go and a whole crowd of them came down to see us off. WILLIS: The rest of Sunday passed in a happy blur and then there was the usual mad rush round saying goodbye to people. Not as many as usual this time, because it seemed that all our friends were coming to see us off. There were the Bulmers, Vin¢ and Joy, Mal and Sheila, and Eric Bentcliffe. Even Eric Needham, who had just arrived on his motorbike. (The one with the wide handlebars, of which he had been heard to say "It's a good bike, but rather susceptible to forked lightning.") I heard him asking Chuck for a light for his cigarette. Chuck obliged, saying: "A light from Chuck Harris. Light an eternal flame from it or something." Eventually Madeleine, Chuck, Arthur and me, accompanied by our entourage, arrived at the platform and the train came in. We said our last goodbyes and started to clamber on. Suddenly the air was filled with confetti. Every one of them had been clutching a handful of it all the way from the hotel. Madeleine and I leaned out of the carriage window dripping confetti - technicolour dandruff, as Bob Shaw, calls it - laughing and waving goodbye. As the train moved off Ken Bulmer shouted, "Give our love to your children when you get home!" HARRIS: During the long walk to the station I tried to persuade Sheila that any real Trufan girl would just jump at the chance of coming back to Rainham with me and found a dynasty or something. I thought I'd managed to convince her too. We climbed into the train, the others threw their confetti (I still don't know what the other passengers must have thought about Madeleine being with three men all covered in confetti), and I leaned out of the door to say goodbye. I didn't want any more trouble with Ashworth so I waited until the train was just going to move out before opening the door again and beckoning to Sheila to climb aboard. But Mal was there before she could move. "Come back little Sheila, " he said........and back she went.
ALLEN: After a tea with Mike Wallace, Peter Hamilton invited me up to his room to witness him making BLOG. He looked a weird figure indeed holding a frothing tumbler of water and disprin in his hand. "Now for the bi-carb - then this - now a drop from this bottle...." he mumbled as he added ingredient after ingredient to the now black and bubbling liquid. "Want to try it?" Peter asked. "No blinkin'fear!" I cried backing away. "Oh well, never mind - its not quite ready yet anyhoo, needs a touch of bheer yet, c'mon downstairs and we'll get some...." Peter emptied the concoction into a pre-labelled BLOG bottle and we then left the room to go for some bheer, but, in the crowds downstairs, I lost him. The American Bar was full of fans plus a few regular customers of the hotel (Ghod knows what they must have been thinking!) I got myself a bheer and moved in on Dave Cohen, Ethel Lindsay, Frances & Cyril Evans, Shirley Marriott, Norman Shorrock and Brian Varley, oh yes, and a Mr. & Mrs. Heath! There I stayed until ten, having a good time.
At ten the bar shut and everyone drifted upstairs to the residents lounge for the second all-night-party. I madly dashed up to my room to put a soaking wet pound-note on the radiator to dry (my zap gun had burst in my pocket) and then, once more, madly dashed into the Residents Lounge. The whole hotel was here, with the exception of Walt & Madeleine Willis, Bert Campbell, Ted Carnell and Ted Tubb who had left for home at 5pm. At these all-night parties the management kindly supplied us with an all-night waiter, and wow, what a waiter, he looked like something out of a horror comic. Mebbe he was a fugitive! But, for all his gruesome looks he was a very nice man! I nearly laughed myself to death when he got his own zap gun and drenched Shamey's blouse. Towards midnight we were invaded by another Yank, this one was a photographer called Shaver, (a real mystery) who wanted some pics of the fen! He brought with him some canned bheer which made him, naturally, very welcome. [The other, Dick Zaremba, was a non-fan who had been spotted at the bar. According to Shirley Marriott: "One young fan roped in an American who was looking very lonely, and he told us afterwards that he had not enjoyed himself so much since he left the States, which was nearly two years ago!"] Mal Ashworth & Sheila entered the room and the two love birds headed straight for one of the sofas. I hadn't seen much of Mal over the weekend, (who had?) so I decided that this was my best opportunity for a bit of talk. So we talked, but they were not present for long, soon they were wishing everyone goodnight, I said goodbye explaining that that I was leaving on the six am train. When they had gone I heard femme-type-squeals from behind me, I turned just in time to see Shamey being dragged off by Ron Buckmaster to a party which was being held in room 10. The lounge was now almost empty but for a group in a corner playing cards and an odd bod here and there. I hailed Archie and we too went off to room 10. On opening the door we were confronted by a solid wall of fen, the 12' x 12' room was crammed tight, and cigarette smoke belched out the door like smoke from a wood fire. Archie and I bulldozered our way in, Archie forced one way and me the other. Eventually I found an empty piece of floor in a corner between the bed and the wardrobe. (I think Burgess was in the wardrobe!) When I had recovered my strength and adjusted my eyes to the fog-like atmosphere I looked around to see where Archie had got himself to. Eric Bentcliffe was standing beside me and was furiously taking down notes on toilet paper (said he was going to decipher them at his own convenience!)
Suddenly I was nearly swept off my feet, I felt a terrific force pulling at me, all over the room fans were being forced in a particular direction, glasses and bottles were swept away and the fog-like-air rushed around like a hurricane! I think whoever it was that opened the window regretted it! After this I found myself once more outside the room and in the corridor. Pete Taylor and Ina Shorrock suddenly rushed by me looking very frantic. "Wassamatter?" I called after them. Pete looked over his shoulder and shouted, "FIRE!" Oh my Ghod, I thought, as I ran after them, this is a fine time to have a fire, but, then again, as I passed one of those cone shaped fire extinguishers and a secret desire came out, maybe it was not! When I caught up to Pete and Ina they were talking to Boris the waiter and John Brunner. "Don, sniff at the air, what do you smell apart from the bheer fumes?" cried Pete as I joined them. I sniffed. "Burning - yeah, somethin' burning!" "Well it ain't in da boiler room," growled Boris, "I bin down there - but I smell da burning" and he went off sniffing at the air and looking in each room as he walked along the corridor. Others had joined the 'fire brigade' now so we decided to split up and hunt for the source. Archie Mercer followed me up the stairs to the very top floor, sniffing at the air as we went. On reaching the top we were confronted by a sign which read 'Fire Escape'. "Well," gasped Archie, "it's gone, it's escaped - poof - let's go back and tell the others." "Nice of it to leave a note," I said as we raced downstairs with the news. But the others were not satisfied, somebody asked where Mal & Sheila were as that is where the fire would be! I gave up the search and went back to room 10 which was just as tightly packed as ever. This time I managed to get a seat and it was so darn comfortable that I nearly fell asleep in it! I couldn't find a suitable drink, most of it had been consumed by this time, so I had to suffer some of Burgess' Orange Juice. He had a whole jug full of this which he had brewed himself and was diluted almost to water! The window was now permanently open and every so often a fan would poke his head out, gulp in fresh air and then return into the clime. A cry of "Please Ghod deliver us from this evil!" made all heads turn in the direction of Shirley Marriott who was playing at birds and bees with John Owen. These two had started off by sitting on the bed, then lying on it, later shifting to the floor and then lying under the bed and finally leaving the room for a destination known only to themselves. Peter Hamilton was talking to someone in the corner, apparently he had given up making BLOG and was more interested in his conversation which lasted just about all night. Here again as the night before things became a confused blur .... Ina Shorrock sat on my knee while her legs were being autographed by those in the room - surprising how everyone's name took on longer length. Was it Dave Newman sitting in the washbasin? I can't remember, but whoever it was periodically zapping folks. Ken Slater also helped him now and then. Everyone was really in the highest spirit, except Burgess who was in Orange Juice! I moved to sitting on the bed and gave Archie a lesson on how to talk Tyneside lingo. The lesson did not get very far however as the male section of the room were too busy watching a certain neckline fall lower and lower and lower and aaaaaaaaah! At 4.30 the party broke up, I sat for a while in the Residents Lounge with Archie Mercer and John Brunner before going to my room to wash and change and make ready to leave.
Monday 11th AprilDownstairs at 5.30 Boris made me a nice breakfast which I ate in the deathly quiet Devils Kitchen lounge. Boris told me that everyone on the staff were very pleased with the convention and that fans were the friendliest nicest and most generous people he's ever met. This was the egoboo I collected on behalf of fandom. Before leaving the hotel I saw Wansborough who was wandering around the hotel obviously gathering inspiration for his next poem. I bid him farewell and left, feeling depressed and sad that such a wonderful weekend had come to an end.Ten minutes later I was back. My train had been cancelled and the next one was not due until 10 am. I was glad I could stay in the hotel for a few more hours. I collected my keys from Boris and on my way to my room I met Marriott. She had been locked out of her room so I invited her in to mine. We stayed there until eight, talking of fannish things, and came down for breakfast, my second. Most folk were surprised to see me still around. I was surprised myself. After the morning grub I sat in the now noisy Devils Kitchen with Archie, Shirley and a few others until ten. This time I really left, accompanied by Terry Jeeves, Ron Bennett and Irene Boothroyd on the train back. However, on our way to the station there were Marriott, Oosterbaan, Harry Clements, and one or two others dotted up and down the road. We bid our farewells, took a few photographs and then Terry and I went into the station. Just then, as most fen were leaving, a strange thing happened, the 'all-clear.' sirens echoed over the countryside! "Well of all the cheeky blighters!" gasped Terry as our train pulled out of the station, "Fancy that!"
Fans travelling to Liverpool, Manchester, and Glasgow seem to have caught the same train out of Kettering. Norman Shorrock took half a dozen photos of them, on the platform and the train, including the two below. The latter is interesting given that Frances Evans later left husband Cyril and married Brian Varley.
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