THE EASTERCON 1961 REPORTS

At 6.30 on Friday morning, Ted Forsyth, Bruce Burn and myself set out for the Lexicon. Bruce had managed to hire a nine seater van for the trip, and as it turned out it was just as well that we managed to get one as big as that. Apart from personal stuff the three of us took along a load of synthetic armour for use at the fancy dress party. This took up quite a bit of room, and as we still had to pick up the rest of the London crew, a fervent prayer went up from the Ferndale trinity. All to no avail, We did collect Pat Kearney, with only a minor difficulty; Bruce had to drag him out of the bath, ignoring the screams of protest that we were not due for another hour yet. The Parker Pen was the next stop and, of course, Ella had only just got up, and Was busy ramming breakfast down her guests' throats. While loading operations commenced, any casual observer would have thought that we were going to relieve Gloucester not just attend a convention there. The final blow was struck when Ella, after seeing us load three large hold-alls, said, "Well, now that you've got the food on, you can help me put my own stuff away". Luckily Roy Sheppard, a BSFA member, turned up and offered to help. Thanking him very profusely, we hastily threw some cases into his car, pushed Ella in after them, and roared away into the west before Ella could regain her sense to complain about the set-up.

In the van, in addition to those already mentioned were, Ethel Lindsay (SFCoL Chairman), Jim Groves (SFCoL Hon Sec.) Don Geldart, the club's tame army sergeant, who put in a power of work on the SFCoL display table, It would be a waste of time to say much about the journey as it was uneventful, although surprisingly speedy and pleasant in spite of the cramped conditions. One ironical note though,..after travelling the 105 miles with little in the way of traffic problems, and remember this was Good Friday notorious for hold-ups, we got stuck just two hundred yards from the hotel door, and were held up for half an hour. --

We finally booked into the New County Hotel. Being the first to arrive we proceeded to give the staff a taste of what was to come by hauling in a great quantity of odds and ends, and dragging them into one room, out again, along the corridor, into another room, with a quick dash down to the bar every now and-then. Everything stowed, Ted and I went to find Bruce. Room 18 was where we had tucked him away, so that is where we headed for. Arriving I banged loudly on the door. What looked suspiciously like a half dressed female stuck head and shoulders round the door. In a heartfelt screech she said, "Am I not to have any peace today?" I stood there with my mouth open, about the only time at the con I was to be speechless. This wasn't the hirsute New Zealander we all knew so well. No! by God it wasn't. I recovered enough to mumble an apology, and hastily dispersed from the scene, dragging Ted, still in state of shock, behind me.

Meandering aimlessly we ran into Jim Groves, who it seemed had been given one room only to have it snatched away from him. Another room had been assigned, and he had just got all his luggage in when Brian Alldis arrived. It seems that the hotel had fouled up the bookings and there was no room for Brian. Jim's services were immediately offered (by Ethel Lindsay) and Jim found himself homeless again. Ted and I. helped Jim remove his cases. Brian was very apologetic about all this, and kept saying how sorry he was as he joyfully threw Jim's luggage out into the corridor. They did find Jim a room in the end...it was Audrey Eversfields'. However Jim was bitterly disappointed when he found out that they wouldn't let him stay after Audrey arrived the following day.

Down at the bar we found almost all London fandom trying to explain fandom to Geoff Doherty, a new BSFA member. He seemed pretty impressed and surprised. That such a group existed, and was asking a lot of pertinent questions, the answers to which he was to put to a good use later. We all adjourned to a Chinese restaurant for food, very good it was too. Much refreshed we made out way back to start our hardworking part of the convention. This was the setting up of the SFCoL table. Don Geldart had done most of the hard work already by making posters, models and planning a suitable layout. Ted and I helped with actually putting it together, while Bruce was busy at the OMPA table, and Jim at the BSFA table. The main items on our table were models of a rocket, with launching rig, personnel and transport. The smaller ship and space station were suspended in a frame against a black background, which was very effective. Whilst Don was busy setting these up, I was stringing together letters, which Don had cut out, to form the name of our club. These spanned across about ten feet and when they were up we were all satisfied that anybody who came into the hall would at least know who we were.

It was now time to start our advertising campaign. This year the club made an all out drive to sell the Combozine, which had been specially produced for the occasion. We had adverts which were parodies of current mundane ads such as "Top people read the Combozine", "Unzip a Combozine" and "You're never alone with the SFCoL Combozine". Don had printed over a hundred cards with the inscription 'Get the SFCoL Combozine Now' and these were liberally sprinkled round the hall, into people's pockets, and many other likely and unlikely places. Anyone looking at someone else's display was likely to be confronted with one of the cards. Our greatest success was with Norman Shorrock who after removing cards from the Liverpool stand about a dozen times without ever seeing anybody put one there, came and begged to be allowed to buy a copy, whereupon we presented him with a free copy as he was an honorary member. Ted proved just how unbiased we were by writing on Norman's little card 'We also recommend Bastion'; a little gesture that left Norman obviously unmoved.

We set off with Ron Bennett to find something to eat, and just when we were about to order, in walked Dave Kyle. Those who have met Dave will know what sort of a sense of humour he has. I think 'sharp' is the word. Bennett is no slouch in the art of wise-cracking either. By unvoiced mutual consent Dave and Ron started a bait-the-waitress campaign, as a substitute, I suppose, for the lack of a floor show. Unfortunately they had picked on the wrong person, and soon they were hard put to it to keep up with her, much less get the better of her in high-powered cross-talk. I was all for hurrying back to catch the official opening, but Ron kept on saying that never in the history of the world had a con started on time. Nevertheless I made my way to the con hall, where in spite of Ron's assurances that no con had ever started on time, this one had.

When I got into the con hotel, Eric Jones was introducing interesting con attendees. He then said as there was nobody else to introduce he would get on with the programme. Dead on cue the door opened and Eric added "Except for our Guest of Honour, Kingsley Amis". A really wonderful entrance, which couldn't have been improved upon even with rehearsal, Originally the programme was to start with three films, which the committee thought would help non-fans get into the mood of things quicker. Unfortunately the projectionist went somewhat berserk and kept on showing an almost unending stream of pretty poor films, except for a good one, which no-one understood. Hours later, or so it seemed, the lights went up and everyone heaved a sigh of relief, and made preparations to enjoy themselves.

Things started quietly for me, in the lounge talking with Ron and Norman Shorrock, we were joined by Ian McAulay, carrying the inevitable glass of lager. Norman and Ron had a duel with stamp tweezers, but other than this everybody seemed content to gather their energies in readiness for the long night ahead. We went to a party in Peter Mabey's room, about ten others were already there. All pretty quiet, as they were listening to Paddy Roberts on tape. Dave Hale was on the bed with about six others, trying to seduce Alan Rispin's girl, Dianne, who was dropping hints (like kicking him in the ribs) that she wasn't too keen on the idea. Alan was lying there with a silly grin on his face, and a hat of the type worn by men who want to get ahead, on the back of his head.

I sat next to Brian Jordan, who offered an almost empty bottle of Brandy. I, of course, refused and delivered my speech on the evils of alcohol...I don't like Brandy. I was then shown a glass with a ¼ inch of liquid, and told "That's all the Drambhuie there is". Not liking this either, I poured it on Dave Hale's head. I got the impression he was not too keen on the stuff either. Things seemed to go with a swing after this, everybody indulging in high quality fan-talk. I then took an intense dislike to Alan's hat. I grabbed it, dropped it on the floor and stood on it. Soon there was a queue of people waiting to stand on Alan's hat, much to his complete disinterest. The idea grew that it would be a good thing to auction it for TAFF. Ron immediately took this up and called for bids. These were a bit slow in coming, and 1/- was the highest anybody was prepared to go for the monstrosity. Ron was trying everything in the book to get the bidding up, he turned to me and said, "I will even accept postal bids". Reaching for the nearest typewriter I hurriedly typed a note to say I had no intention of bidding. Ron was a bit peeved at the wasted time. Then came his most brilliant idea - group bids. The hat was passed round and everybody contributed to the total, even Alan, we found that TAFF was richer by 12/-! Now came the tricky part, who was to get the hat? Dianne made some silly suggestion about giving it back to Alan, but was shouted down, when I made the obvious suggestion that we each have a piece. Scissors appeared from nowhere, and Ron divided it up. I managed to snatch the hat band which hangs proudly on the wall before me as I write. Even Alan got a bit…

It was rather noisy by now, and made noisier by a banging on the door. It was the harbinger of our first complaint. One of the permanent guests had seemingly had enough of the racket, and' started laying down the law about the right to get some sleep etc. Mumbling curses quietly under our breath, we departed for more sociable parts. Ella decided. to get some sleep, as did Ted and some others, even though, it was only 1.30 am, but the rest of us did not go for that. As we wandered down the corridor, we bumped into Norman Shorrock, who waved a bottle of something at us and said there was a party in his room.

There were quite a few people there, most of the Liverpool Group, Ruth and Dave Kyle, and lots more too blurred to be seen properly. Dave was preparing to show the film he had taken of the London con of the year before. Dave and Norman did a great job of showing it under conditions far from ideal, the room was small and there was no screen. Everyone enjoyed it and were disappointed when it finished. Then Ina decided that she wasn't as comfortable as she might be, and that she would feel better in slacks. The assembled male faction could see no reason for her not changing into them, and made their findings clear to Ina. Accepting the roars as a challenge, Ina said "Oh, so you think I can't!", and jumping up on the bed which was holding about ten of us, proceeded to do so, by the simple expedient of pulling them up under her skirt. Eddie Jones and Phil Rogers led the howls of protest.

The room was pretty crowded by now, Ina must have thought the air needed freshening or something, because she started to spray people, with scent. I did a stupid thing by indicating that this, sort of thing did not appeal to me. Of course I ended up being held down while Ina sprayed scent down my neck, up my nose and in my mouth when I opened it to protest. It's just as well that I knew everybody there, or it could have: been very embarrassing for me. I cannot remember much after that, except that Norman kept handing round glasses of coffee, which turned out to be coffee flavoured wine, with drastic after effects. About 4.30 I decided I'd had enough and bidding farewell to all and sundry, wandered happily down the corridor to room, bed and four hours sleep.

After breakfast next morning Ted and I went up to see if Ella was still alive, and found that she had discovered she could have breakfast in bed and was taking full advantage of this. The start of the programme was TYPO, a tape play by the Cheltenham Group. It wasn't bad but not as good as I had expected. This was followed by a talk from Geoff Doherty on the desirability or otherwise of plugging SF in schools. Last year Geoff had edited an SF anthology for use in schools called "An Alien in the Academy". What with the stories he told of the trouble he has had to get other teachers to read SF (we all felt for him here) and the questions from the audience, and the very interesting and competent way he handled his subject, Geoff gave us one of the best items in what was to be a really fine con programme.

Next came, lunch which gave everybody the opportunity to talk about what they had just listened to, and from what I could hear they all did. No hanging about over lunch, as next came the Don Ford slide show. The previous year's show had got rave notices, and we were all looking forward to it very much. The slides were shown with a commentary on tape given by Don. This made things a bit difficult for Norman who was projecting, as there was no margin for error - if he goofed once, it was probable the whole show would go up the creek. It says a great deal for his nerves that only one slide went in upside down, and he still managed to keep things running smoothly. There was slight disappointment that there were no shots of last year's con. "I had been particularly looking forward to this as I was unable to attend. Nevertheless a good show.

As you all know, the Guest of Honour was Kingsley Amis, author of "New Maps of Hell". He was next on the programme to give a talk, and be available to answer questions. It was this last bit that everyone was waiting for, and you could see that at the earliest opportunity there was going to be a mad scramble to get questions in - it seemed everyone had read "New Maps of Hell". Amis came in with Brian Aldis. Brian gave an amusing introduction to Amis, who rose to really tumultuous applause, which subsided to dead silence. We weren't going to miss a word of his talk. His address gloried in the title "SF Anti-science, Anti-fiction". Right at the start Amis set about stirring up the natives, and he proved that he was a most accomplished hand at the job. He started laying about SF, letting us know just what he thought was wrong with it, but at the same time telling. us just how it could be improved. The unfortunate bit was, most of what he said was quite right. I am afraid he overdid it in places, such as. when he gave us a list of concepts that formed the basis of a good many SF stories, and said that they were impossible. These were time travel, telepathy, the universal translating machine - there may have been others, these were the main ones. He went on in much the same vein, dealing in the literary side of SF, and here Arthur C Clarke got his. Amis read from one of the stories in Clarke's new anthology, and made Clarke's handling of a love scene sound even worse than it actually was, although this was just barely possible. As he continued, people started shifting in their seats, like cats getting ready to pounce, but other than a few gurgles and' splutters, no one said a word till he had finished.

Once he'd stopped the questions came rolling at him and it was wonderful to watch him take them all and come out on top. Even Ted Tubb couldn't get the better of him, although Ted had some good points, which might have caught Amis had Ted followed them up instead of arguing round in circles. By now everybody was having a great time, and if they weren't arguing with Amis they were arguing among themselves; the hall wasn't quite in an uproar, but it was getting well on the way. But it had to stop sometime, and Eric Jones called a halt half an hour over the allotted time. Afterwards most people agreed that in general Amis was right, and individuals could only disagree with him in particular points, like the impossibility of telepathy, for instance.

A long queue formed before Amis, most with shining new copies of "New Maps of Hell" to be autographed. He had quite a job writing, while still answering questions. I got my programme signed, and managed to .get an indignant "Why don't you like Sturgeon?" in, I got an answer that boiled down to " 'Cos he makes me sick". I went away shattered at this confession.

Eric Jones was in charge of the next item, an auction in aid of the BSFA. I need say no more than he managed to keep dividing people from their money at regular intervals. Ted bought 5 F&SF covers. Everyone now disappeared to get ready for the Transgalactic Tourist's Party. Some of the London mob were going in armour made by Ted Tubb and Ken Bulmer. This was a little away from the central theme, but we thought it would be OK if we said we were from something like The High Crusade.

All were donning costumes in Bruce's room. When I entered I was greeted by a great deal of frenzied. activity, interspersed with grunts, groans, and the occasional full blooded scream as a pin didn't go where it should. Ken and Ted were in charge of proceedings. Bruce and Jimmie were dressed, while Don was putting the finishing touches to his. It had been originally mine, but he was doing a better job of wearing it than I ever could. Pat Kearney was being bound up in authentic type mediaeval leggings. Ted was trying to put Brian Burgess in a suit of armour. Ken was going around with a hefty wooden sword cutting and slashing at people and asking them if they could feel anything. This was funny, as he was hitting so hard, had they not been properly protected, the blow could have killed far less hurt! This was no place for a person of my sensitivity, so I rapidly faded from the scene.

In order to combat the ever present lack of females at fan gatherings, the committee had the bright idea to invite some nurses. They were gratified when all tickets were taken and more asked for. The sad news that confronted me in the hall, was that they had used the tickets to bring their boyfriends also! Thus there was a distinct impression given of two separate dances being held .. a mundane one where people were dancing ... and a fannish one where people were talking and drinking. It's very difficult to get across the atmosphere that pervaded. All through everybody was giving the impression, without actually saying anything, that there was nowhere else they would rather be, and this was the only way to enjoy yourself.

The highlight of the party was the fight staged by the London group. From the onset this had been Ken Bulmer's idea. He had been talking for weeks before in a way that suggested the whole purpose of the con was so that London could stage a carnival of blood - the more blood the better. Ken would organise it all, but no thanks he was too old for that sort of thing. Those wearing the armour were none too keen on the idea, but Ken, with masterly verbiage, convinced them all that this was the only gentlemanly thing to do: they got up and fought. Ted Tubb try as he might to hold back, got stuck in too. It was quite funny beforehand to listen to Ted trying to talk himself out of taking part, while everyone knew, including Ted, that where it was thickest was where we would find Mr Tubb.

Bobbie Grey announced the bout. She told us that one faction from some star cluster had suffered a slight at the hands of another and had challenged them to back down or prove themselves with cold wood. The supposed slighters had no hesitation, they agreed unanimously to back down, but unfortunately for them the audience realised that there was a good chance that somebody might get hurt, and so wouldn't let them out of it. The two groups consisted of Ted Tubb, Brian Burgess, Bob Richardson and Bob Hawkins on one side The other side was made up of Bruce Burn, Don Geldart, Jim Groves and Pat Kearney. How they fixed the sides I just don't know, because Bruce, Don, Jim and Pat were outweighed considerably, and it must have taken real nerve to stay in the same hall as the others.

Arthur Thomson called them to order and got them started, a most fearsome sight that struck awe into the bystanders. Tubb, not having a shield made do with two swords. Had I not known he was quite friendly with his opponents, I would have sworn that he had his heart set on killing the lot of them. He would beat about one of them, whilst making frantic back handed swipes at any other opponent who passed within reach. Amis, who had managed to get a seat at the front, was cowering against the back of it. Bob Richardson, dressed in a sort of Mongol outfit, and Don made frenzied efforts to decapitate each other, right in front of Amis, and they didn't seem particularly worried about the possible loss of one of our leading writers.

Brian Burgess just stood there. With the amour on he looked impossibly tall and most impressive. Bruce kept on coming at him, but made no impression whatsoever, and every now and again Brian would take a tremendous swing before which Bruce respectfully retreated. Pat, the SFCoL's youngest member, only 17 and looking more like 15, was achieving one of his ambitions, the undivided. attention of a professional author. Yet he was not very happy about this, nor could you blame him. Mr Tubb was acting as if Pat had said he was only Britain's second best author, and poor Pat looked set for the hospital at any minute. He was pretty lucky to get away with skinned knuckles, and quite badly bruised ribs. He got consolation later from Ted in a long talk and permission to reprint one of Ted's stories in 'Goudy', Pat's zine. The battle went on for some time, but gradually subsided as people admitted they had had enough, or they ran out of swords, broken ones now littered the floor. Arthur called a halt, and declared a draw, they were all too tired to hear him.

The climax came with the Fancy Dress judging. Judges were Ruth and. Dave Kyle with Ted Carnell. Eddie Jones got first prize with his intricate Spaceman costume. Ina Shorrock second with a Firebird costume, which had also been designed by Eddie. From now on the party started to break up into small groups who went off to get room parties started. Ella and Ethel were sharing a small 'suite', consisting of two rooms and a bathroom tucked away on the top floor. Ted and I headed there and found them with Don Geldart and Arthur Thomson. We were told they had invited Amis to give him a taste of room parties. Arthur began his usual fine job as barman - he says he likes being barman as he can stay close to the drink all night, and nobody complains. Ron Bennett wanted to play cards, and made tracks for his room with Dave Barber and Peter West. I went with them - to watch. Soon I had enough of watching and got in on the game. As it turned out I was glad I did as I won a few shillings, and was in on some fannish history - Ron Bennett lost! We packed up at 3.30 and went looking for a party. We had heard there was to be something in Eddie Jones' room, so wandered along. We had heard right. There most definitely was something going on in Eddie's room. We heard a low rumble coming from within. Ron knocked, a voice yelled "You can't come in". They were right, we couldn't get in, it was a physical impossibility. Ian McAulay, who was propped up behind the door, managed to get it opened about nine inches; I stuck my head round, going on the assumption that if I got my head in, the rest would follow. I was wrong! There were so many people in that room the only way to get in was to go outside, climb in the window, and jump on top of those already in. That room contained thirty eight people, and I'm glad I was not one of them. Our coming seemed to be the cue for things to break up, as Audrey Eversfield fainted which convinced people that perhaps it was a bit crowded. So ended the second day.

Sunday saw me up not so early, and definitely not so bright as Saturday. I was nearly put off my breakfast by the entry of Ina Shorrock, who bounced in looklng disgustingly fresh and cheerful. I did get some consolation from seeing Norman, who looked as if he had crawled painfully from his coffin for the day. Bang on time Ina, as Chairman, got the BSFA General meeting started. Anyone who wants to know the Official Business that took place can join the BSFA (by getting in touch with me) and read the Official Minutes. One item of general interest was the choosing of the 1962 Consite.

After having suffered the disappointment two years in succession of being given the con for Harrogate, only to have it snatched away again, it was the general consensus of opinion that the 1962 con should be given to Ron Bennett. Everyone seemed agreed on this, the only one who would not give an opinion was Ron himself. Someone nominated Harrogate. People started to get up and say why they thought this was a good idea. Then some bright person came up with the bright idea of asking Ron if he was willing to take the con. Ron made the most of this, his moment. He slowly rose to his feet and waited for everyone to be quiet. Then he went into along dramatisation of how for years he had nurtured the idea of holding a con in his home town, but nobody would listen. How at last it was reluctantly agreed that he could have it but finding his dreams snatched away, and this happening not once but two years in succession. By now, nearly everyone was in tears at poor Ron's plight, and it was now that he brought his speech to a brilliant climax by accepting the 1962 con, and then naming the committee which he had already formed.

This being Easter Sunday, after lunch the SFCoL started to distribute Easter eggs. Ethel stood at the door with a basket and, as far as we know, nobody escaped. They all got an egg whether they liked it or not, on the whole they were rather taken with the idea. The first item on the afternoon programme was the SFCoL sketch. This had been written by Bruce Burn, around his pet fixation of Scotland taking over Anglofandom. The theme, briefly, was that Bruce and Jimmie Groves were prisoners in a fanzine factory (I seem to have heard this before somewhere) and were under the charge of Ethel who brought them fmz to collate, and occasionally something to eat. This plot was the vehicle for a few song parodies which seemed to go down pretty. well At the end Ella came on and gave me orders to shoot the pair, which I did with great pleasure, they being only Englishmen. Unfortunately, as this was put on soon after lunch, there was only a small audience, which was a pity considering the amount of work put into it by Ethel, Bruce and Jimmie, who had even rehearsed on the journey to Gloucester.

As is becoming traditional, Eric Bentcliffe put on another THIS IS YOUR FAN LIFE. After Eric's usual red herrings it turned out the victim was Eric Jones, and a more surprised man you never saw. There was a delightfully free and easy atmosphere throughout, and even the few mistakes didn't break the continuity, but on the contrary, gave Eric the chance to get in a few sly jokes. Eric later did admit to feeling bad about one part. This was when a magnificent machine was brought on, wheels turning, lights flashing, it was very impressive. Eric Jones bad made it himself under the impression that Terry Jeeves was to be in the very seat that he (Eric) was sitting in. Dave Kyle made quite an impression in the middle of Eric's description of Eric Jones (confusing isn't it?) by getting up from his seat, and pretending that he was hypnotised. He started walking round the hall saying, in a very cultured English accent things like "I am an Englishman" and "I renounce Science Fiction. I don' t know if this was in the script, Eric Bentcliffe looked pretty surprised anyway. THIS IS YOUR FAN LIFE was definitely the best fannish item on the programme. Ron Bennett then conducted a most successful TAFF auction, it was surprising the amount of money people still had. I had saved all mine for this auction thinking everyone else would have spent theirs. I did manage to get a Science Fantasy cover, and also in partnership with Ted, an unpublished Brian Aldis manuscript. Eric Bentcliffe gave a talk on his TAFF trip. He had a terrible cold, and could hardly speak, but stuck to it, to give a most worthwhile talk. I had to leave the hall as he started to auction off the professional authors. When I got back I was congratulated by Don Geldart and Ron Bennett for having a hand in buying Kingsley Amis, and asked to pay the 10/- that was due. I did. I must have been drunk.

The con was rapidly drawing to a close. A film show was the last item. FORBIDDEN PLANET was the main film to be shown, but of much more interest to most fans was THE MESQUITE KID, which Dave Kyle had brought over from the States. This however turned out a bit of a disappointment. The soundtrack was very bad, and we could not understand most of the dialogue. We did have the consolation of seeing some of the Amerifen and when BJo came on the screen, there was more than a few dark mutterings, all asking what fool voted for Don Ford. The films ended. The con was officially closed, and people started to pull the con hall to bits (or clear up it was called). There was nothing else for it, but to go find another room party.

The room parties on this last night seemed to go very quickly, with everyone trying to talk about every thing they had forgotten at previous parties. I remember listening to Ron Bennett tearing Jhim Linwood's ideology to bits, in a very calm and reasoned manner, considering Ron has the same ideas on the subject as Jhim, while Alan Rispin mumbled drunkenly in the background. This was at a very sedate affair in Bob Ricbardson's room, which we soon left to go up to the Ethel/Ella suite. Here we found the usual boisterous mob, which this time included Amis, Aldiss, Geoff Doherty arguing in a corner about SF with Chris Miller and some other fans. Ian McAulay was becoming very intimate with Ina Shorrock at the top of the bed, while Norman was beaming benevolently at the bottom of the bed. There were dozens of others strewn about all over the room. Ethel was somewhat merry by this time, and on giving Amis a drink, proceeded to do so by pouring it all down his jacket, later she insisted that she saw a glass there.

This merrymaking went on for some time with various people coming in to make their fond farewells, and others drifting out to get some sleep. I found myself a seat on the bed, but no sooner did I get comfortable than I was pushed off by Ian. As I sat on the floor I thought that when it came to the bit that I couldn't hold my own on a bed with Ian, it was time for me to go home, which I proceeded to do by crawling along the corridor to my room. Before going to sleep I just had time to realise that my first convention was over, boy, had I enjoyed myself.

Next morning was a flurry of activity, getting ready to leave, saying goodbye, and just walking about soaking up the last dregs of the convention. We met Tony Walsh who had bought THE GUARDIAN. In this paper there was a. very good writeup of the con by Geoff Doherty, who proved that he had been listening on the Friday, by including in his report a pocket description of fandom. A most fair report by Geoff, which left us all slightly bewildered that the paper hadn't insisted on BEMS, flying saucers and the like.

A crowd, had gathered in the lounge and it was surprising to see no post-con depression. On the contrary, people were still bubbling over with enthusiasm. The most surprising thing I saw was Ron Bennett having to put people off paying their con dues for Harrogate, until the time when things were a bit more organised.

There were no sad leave-takings, only cheery goodbyes as the conventioneers making their way back to their homes, shouted "See you mate, in Harrogate". And if you are going to Harrogate I will tell you one person you will see, but I'm not going to write a con report next time.

...SCOTTISHE #24 (June 1961, ed. Ethel Lindsay)

Oh, brother, did we ever have a Convention.. This year's was my fourth and the one I've enjoyed best to date. Our sincere and heartfelt thanks to the ConCommittee who worked so hard to make it the success it so assuredly was: Eric Jones, Keith Freeman, Tony Walsh, Bob Parkinson and Ethel Lindsay. I only hope they weren’t all too tired to enjoy the result of their efforts themselves.

Friday night opened the proceedings with a film show which, quite frankly dragged. That is the only adverse criticism that I personally can level at the whole weekend. Had the films shown then been of a more interesting nature we wouldn't have grudged so much the time involved which prevented us from partying and nattering together.

The series of parties began in the room of Alan Rispin. We were having the whale of a time when someone knocked for admission - or so we thought. Our first impulse was to shout: "drop dead", it's as well we didn't because on being told to enter, the countenance of an irate tenant was disclosed demanding that we allow his 2 yrs old child to get some sleep that night. No sense of the fitness of things, some people. Being our first night in the hotel it was obvious that if we didn't want the party atmosphere to dissipate entirely we would have to move to another room. Among the assembled crowd I can’t remember who it was called out the number of the next room we should grace with our company, but the room turned out to belong to Eddie Jones.

Eddie was lodged in a single, single room, if you know what I mean. It was already quite crowded when I arrived but still plenty of room for more as we gauge these things. Ian McAulay had seated himself on a piece of the furniture which ensured him of space to breathe if not of comfort and as I was standing next to him it meant that each time the door opened to admit even more fen I had to lean far over him to allow them in. A little of this was too much for Ian and he gave up his seat in favour of standing and taking his chance in the melee. I didn’t waste any time. Before he’d had the chance to decide the best place to stand I had occupied his vacanted place on the furniture. It was now Bob Parkinson’s turn to do the leaning act every time the door opened which was frequently.

I am bound to miss someone out as it was difficult to see exactly who was there, but from where I was sitting I could see Tony Walsh and Audrey Eversfield standing as near to the window as they could get without actually going out of it. The crush later became so bad that Audrey passed out, more from the crush of people than from anything she'd had to drink. Going round the room from the right-hand side and sitting on the floor next to the wash basin there was Peter Mabey. Peter was next to the foot of the bed sitting on which we had: Ina Shorrock, Ted Tubb, Sandra Hall, and the room on the bed immediately in front of them was occupied at different times by various people. At the head of the bed and immediately in front of the door was standing: Ian McAulay, Joe Patrizio and Bob Parkinson. On the floor just in front of me was a higgledy-piggledy of bodies inextricably mixed. The heads I saw belonged to Don Geldart, Ethel Lindsay, who had been pushed into the room with such force that she'd landed among the crowd on the floor without a hope of getting up again without a major operation being performed on her and some of the others holding her down, and Brian Jordan. This little lot were sitting on the legs of Jhim Linwood, Alan Rispin and his girl friend Diane - I never did discover her surname.

So far I have only mentioned a few of those who were at that particular party as the crowd kept ebbing and flowing. I do know that at one point in the evening someone counted noses and discovered there were 40 fen in the room! Through it all Eddie sat on part of the bed looking so forlorn; all he wanted was the chance to go to bed and sleep. I gave up fairly early in the proceedings going to my room about 2-30a.m. I know there were parties on the go for much longer than that, but there was the rest of the weekend to go. I believe that Bruce Burn and Ian McAulay stayed up every night until 6.a.m. They were welcome.

I should perhaps mention here that we had two Guests of Honour this year. From the world of prodom we had Kingsley Amis and from our small world of fandom we had Archie Mercer and it couldn't have been offered to a nicer or more deserving guy. Archie has always been most generous with his time and money in the cause of fandom and after having spent three years as Treasurer of the British Science Fiction Association it was long past time for us to show some appreciation of what he has done. Good on you, Archie. Kingsley Amis was an entirely different kettle of fish. At first sight one was inclined to dislike him because of what looked like the beginnings of a sneer on his face. Remembering what non-fan pros have said and thought of fans in the past, when I saw him I thought he was there in a spirit of condescending tolerance. Once having become acquainted with him, he isn't like that at all. Long and loud were his complaints that he hadn't known about our Conventions before and he was going to come to next year's, by golly. We even subjected him to a room party, an ordeal to which he stood up manfully, so much so that he returned for some more of the same the next night. Yes, a nice fellow, Amis. I liked him as I believe most of the others did.

The first item of any interest on the Saturday programme was a talk by a BSFA member who is also a teacher: Jeff Doherty. The title given it was "An Alien in the Academy". S-F being the Without knowing that he wrote for the newspapers a crowd of us on Friday evening had been talking to Jeff telling him, at his own request, about fandom. He was fascinated by it and wrote a very fair report of the Convention and its members for the Saturday's Manchester Guardian. He sparked off some very interesting comments and argument and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his place on the hot-seat. After lunch we gathered to watch the slide show which had been prepared for us and sent over by Don Ford. Don, who attended last year's Convention as TAFF Delegate had been so pleased with our reception for the show he put on for us then, that he thought we might like to see more. I have only one complaint to make about its presentation and that is that Don put his commentary on tape this year instead of coming over to give it in person. A Ford slide show is something not to be missed!

The main event scheduled for Saturday afternoon was the talk to be given us by our GoH. Brian Aldiss introduced him to us in jocular manner which at times seemed a mite laboured. This could have been over-anxiety on my part to hear what Amis had to say. I know there are going to be many reports giving the gist of what he said so I won't waste time telling you here; I'll leave it to those better qualified to do it. I must place on record our delight with his gift of repartee especially when answering Ted Tubb. Amis had made some remark about pornography in S-F. Relative to a comment made by Amis, Ted said he had been disgusted to find S-F being used as a vehicle for pornography. Not knowing Ted's reputation Amis retorted:- " ...I must be more sophisticated and-blasé than you, but..." This brought roars of laughter and left Ted without a retort of his own.

The rest of Saturday passed in a blur of meals eaten, walks taken in order to get some air, and quick visits made to the Con-hall in order to keep an eye on what was being done at any given moment just so I wouldn't miss out on anything I particularly wanted to see or hear. As the afternoon wore on towards evening excitement was mounting in anticipation of the coming fancy dress party and dance. Nurses had been invited from a local hospital in order to ensure that the lads had a choice of females with which to dance instead of, as in the past, being thrown on the mercies of the few femmes usually present at these does. We were bitterly disappointed to find they had accepted our invitation not only for themselves, but for their boy friends as well!

Costumes ranged from the grotesque to the attractive with many in-betweens. Outstanding were the mask worn by Dave Kyle, the bird costume worn by Ina Shorrock (which won first prize in the parade) and that horrible eye worn the middle of her forehead worn by Ruth Kyle. Worth a very special mention in my opinion, was the witches outfit, complete with besom worn by Diane (Alan Rispin's friend), both for its simplicity and impressiveness; she really looked the part...if that isn’t being rude. Ted Tubb, Bruce Burn, Bob Hawkins, Brian Burgess, Bob Richardson, Pat Kearney and Don Geldart had brought out once more the armour, swords etc. that had been worn and used with such good effect when the London crowd visited Cheltenham at Whitsun two years ago. They started a sword fight with more enthusiasm than regard for rules, if any there were, and it was worth a front row seat to see Ted Tubb matched against Brian Burgess. Talk about trying to move the immovable! Burgess just stood there and let them all come at him; so well encased was he that there was no spot through which they could reach him.

Dancing - or what I saw of it - was patchy, many of them preferring to stand at the bar drinking and forming discussion groups. I was off in a corner of the hall with Ken Slater, Dave Barber, Ian McAulay, Jim Groves and a couple of others talking about S-F. That was one thing about this Convention which caused much comment. No matter where you went or at what time of day or night you would come across a small group tucked away somewhere discussing S-F. Whether, as has been argued, this was due to the influence of the BSFA members present, or not, I wouldn’t like to say. I have noticed that even at our SFCL club meetings it is talked about a lot more than it was in the past. Maybe it's coming back into fashion or favour?

Much later on Saturday night Ethel and I went upstairs to get ready for the company we were expecting to visit our little suite we had to ourselves tucked away in a nice little corner of the hotel. We even had a door which could be shut closing us off entirely from the rest of the hotel any time we felt downright unsociable. Need I say it was never used? The party was held in high good spirits and was an interesting mixture of the faanish and sercon. Here too S-F came in for its share of attention during the jollity. Ethel remarked to me next day of two intriguing conversations, snippets of which she had over heard. To one side they were talking about S-F and on the other there was Phil Rogers and I talking about the fascinating way in which Dave Barber wiggled his ears. This must prove summat, but I don’t know what. We were keeping pretty well open house between the two rooms and as there wasn't room for all of them in Ethel's place the overflow was passing through into mine. This makes it difficult to know who was at ours and who had gone off looking for another party elsewhere. I do remember seeing Phil Rogers, Dave Barber, Don Geldart, Ted Carnell (who had turned up unexpectedly and most welcome he was too), Jimmy Rattigan, Ted Tubb, Ted Forsyth, Joe Patrizio, Alan Rispin and Diane(that name again!), Brian Aldiss, Brian Jordan, Jhim Linwood, Jeff Doherty, Ian McAulay (you could have guessed he’d be there!), two Shorrocks', Kingsley Amis, Ken Slater, Bobbie and Bill Gray, Ron Bennett, Bruce Burn, Daphne Buckmaster, Keith Freeman, Margaret and Eric Jones, and last but not least Arthur Thomson, who had come down for one day and was acting barman very capably. It was a good party.

I trailed off to bed somewhere about 4-30.a.m. I had to have some sleep as the BSFA was holding its A.G.M the following morning. We had a disappointingly small audience for this but those who were present showed they were actively interested in what the Association were doing and had many suggestions to make for an improved service. I don't want to give the appearance of gloating even if I am, but all the suggestions are now the business of Joe Patrizio who is this years Secretary. Good luck, Joe! Ken Slater, Ted Carnell, Eric Bentcliffe and Norman Shorrock came up with some pretty good ideas and were most helpful and encouraging in what they had to say about the Association's affairs. I think it was a most successful meeting. Further on in the magazine you will see a notice mentioning a fund which was launched during this session. As most of you have heard by now Doc Weir died just a couple of weeks before the Convention. Doc was actively interested in the BSFA and has done a lot of constructive work for us in the form of writing for our official magazine VECTOR among other things. We have launched the "Doc Weir Memorial Fund" to buy books for the BSFA library which was a part of the Association which was very nearly his prime interest. You don’t have to be a member of the BSFA to help in this worthy project and I'd like to see us with something well worth his memory.

After the business of the meeting had been completed we were free to go to lunch and Ethel and those who were acting in our club's (SFoL) playlet written and produced by Bruce Burn, were also free to get the shakes and a bad case of butterfly stomach. This they did. We had a slight delay which is after all in the fannish tradition, and which did nothing to make our actors and actress feel any better, and then they were off - or do I mean on! Jimmy Groves and Bruce Burn had the stage to themselves for the opening and as they got into their parts it began to sound quite good to me out in the wings. Ethel, who had a song to sing in her part, was standing waiting to make her entrance and I hope I never again meet anyone with such a bad attack of the shakes. Never mind; once on-stage she did us and herself credit. Congratulations, you three.

Now we were all set for the fannish 'This is Your Life.' The big question in everyone's mind was: WHOSE?? After some deliberate delaying tactics such as approaching those he had no intention of hauling up to the stage Eric Bentcliffe (who MCs the item) did a quick turn round on his heels to sneak up behind Eric Jones who was sitting there supremely confidant that he knew who it was to be: Terry Jeeves. He was wrong, of course, it was Eric Jones. Flustered, Eric was led to the hot-seat and had to sit through a lot of well intentioned kidding. Bruce Burn was notable as an Indian complete with sibilant accent as good as anything done by Peter Sellars. Alan Rispin too, was surprisingly good as a deaf old man, especially when he got his programmes mixed and thought he was taking part in a give-away-show called Take Your Pick. Norman Shorrock was next to come on lugging with him a whacking great machine which when attached to Eric’s person gave out with lots of flashing lights and twirling antennae. There was a clock in the front of it which whipped round at an alarming rate and a slot which lit up saying TILTED. All of it completely useless. Eric's face was a picture when he saw it being, carried in as he’d made the thing himself thinking it was for Jeeves. Later in the evening Eric Bentcliffe was heard to confess he felt a bit guilty having asked Eric to make it himself, but the mood soon vanished.

Next came the TAFF auction at which Ron did his best to take what little money was left in our pockets. I did hear unofficially that he wangled £8.00 from the audience but later it might have been more as Eric Bentcliffe auctioned some of the authors present and the beards of Bob Parkinson and Bruce Burn.

Ken Slater came up with a quiz next in which he gave you some initials and you had to identify the name of an author of S-F. I was very glad I'd stayed to hear it and it was surprising how many names he came up with of whom I'd never heard before! Slater is an asset to any fannish gathering. It grotches me no end that he lives too far away for him to get over to visit here. What he doesn't know about SF and its writers just wasn’t worth knowing in the first place. Ghod forbid that I should put it on record that I like the man, he might find time to read this, let's just say I don't get to see him often enough to suit me.

Now we all broke up for tea and general natter in readiness for the film to be shown later in the evening, which was to be Forbidden Planet. After a meal I sat with Bobby Gray for a while and then did the disappearing act to my room. I'd seen the film twice already and as we were making a side trip to the Cheltenham Club rooms the next day I wanted to get my packing done without having to do it in a mad rush. Archie Mercer had kindly left his record player and records in my room. Now there are some of you ,who just aren't going to believe this, but with hand on heart I swear it's the truth; to the music of the bagpipes I skipped lightly round the room lifting things and putting them down someplace else only to spend the next twenty minutes looking for them. In two hours I had finished my packing so went down to pay my bill and then into see the last half of the film. During the week end I had raffled off two copies of the ATom Anthology and after the film was over I asked Eric Jones if he'd do the draw. Dave Kyle was one of the winners and Paul Andre-was the other. Dave still thinks it was rigged. This was the end of the programmed items and we now had the desolate task of selling off all the posters which had made the hall look so gay and occupied,. I bought one and Ethel bought me another, both of which will eventually find a home on the wall of the Penitentiary when I can figure where to place them; one is a Jeeves' and one a Parkinson, both very colourful.

After dismantling the hall I went up to Ethel's room in which there was to be another party. Pretty nearly all those who had come in on the Saturday night turned up again with maybe a few extra who wandered in and out again. After the week end I had just had I didn't feel like doing much in the way of drinking and I don't think most of the others did either. Ethel was frantic in case any of the bottles should be leftwith even a little in them as it went against the grain to leave them behind in that case. She kept on crying: "for Ghod's sake finish the bottles!" I am happy to report that this very thing was achieved. I chickened out again around 4-30 a.m. and didn’t hear a sound when the party broke up even though they were only next door. Ethel tells me they kept it up until at least an hour after that.

On Monday morning as is the usual thing, people were disappearing from the fannlsh scene with regrettable regularity. Ken Slater popped his head into my room to say his goodbyes; Archie, Bobby and Bill Gray along with Keith Freeman, Ethel, Patrizio and Forsyth came in to sit and chew the rag for a while. I'll never forgive that Bill Gray; you hear me, Bill? Fancy coming into a ladies room - well, alright, mine then, and taking a picture before I'd had the chance to even comb my hair! I'll bet it turns out a beaut, too. Knowing that I had all my packing done with the exception of a few oddments still lying around, I wasn't bothered about how long we sat and nattered. In fact I think it was about 11 a.m. when I finally turned them out so I could get up and dress. I came down to the lounge to find there were still a lot of fen sitting around teaing and coffeeing. Having dispatched a couple of the lads to fetch my bags from my room I joined, Ethel Lindsay and Norman Shorrock in a tray of very welcome tea. Most of the talk buzzing around the lounge at this time was a mixture of comments on the Con just finished and plans for the one to come next year. I don't ever remember leaving a Convention with so many plans already made and firmed up in readiness for the following year. It was good to see how enthusiastic everyone was to keep up the good work.

Bruce Burn, who was the driver for the vehicle hired by the SFoL, had the job of carting a load of stuff back to the Cheltenham club rooms after which he was returning to collect us and take us to visit them in their natural haunts before we left for London and home. Groups were constantly forming, breaking up and reforming elsewhere all over the place. Friendships were re-affirmed, plans were made for more frequent visits to one another, and promises were made also for more frequent letters to be written. As you can see, we in Britain make our New Year Resolutions at Easter. We collected a bunch to go out for lunch at the local Chinese restaurant. This was to be our last real get-together near the Con hotel and we had: Dave and Ruth Kyle, Ina and Norman Shorrock, Eric and Margaret Jones, Bruce, Ethel, Pat Kearney, Ted, Joe, Jimmy Groves, Eddie Jones, Norman Weedall and anyone else who hadn't already left for home. It was a leisurely meal with all of us too tired to exert ourselves to be entertaining. After we left the restaurant we broke up for the last time. In some cases we refused to say goodbye as we intended to meet at the club rooms of the Cheltenham group. We got ourselves packed and loaded into our vehicle and were away.

After having lost ourselves among all the small back streets around Cheltenham we arrived at the club to find Ken and Pamela Bulmer had got there first. Those of our group on their first visit were asked to sign the wall and being 'different' they chose to start off on a new section of' the wall. Audrey Eversfield and Margaret Jones brought tea round to us all and I'm pleased to record that I was given the largest cup/mug to be found in the place. That could be because they had heard I like the stuff. We stayed in the club until about 4-30 p.m. talking over the past few days and making our criticisms to Eric who wanted to know if there was anything we thought he could have done better. We had few such criticisms to make. None of' those who had promised to see us at the club, other than the members, had in fact turned up. Archie had been and gone and the Kyles hadn't shown up at all by the time we were reloaded and set to go. Goodbyes were shouted; fear was expressed that if we didn't soon get moving we might decide to stay after all so they all got behind and pushed, and as we finally took pity on them and drove off the Kyles appeared just in time to give us a wild wave of their hands. Trust them to be late!

We had a very nice, quick drive back to town arriving at my front door somewhen around 7-30 p.m. which was good going. I put the kettle on to make tea and while waiting for it to boil read a letter from Bill Donaho which was waiting for me. Half way through the letter and just as I’d made the tea (it was a long letter), the bell rang. Arthur Thomson had come along to see how the rest of the Con had gone after he'd had to leave. By now all I wanted was for the ruddy thing to finish completely. That wouldn't be until the group had dispersed to their various homes. Finally, utterly weary and talked out for the time being they broke it up and took their leave. I was left with Ron Bennett and Brian Jordan who were staying with me for the next week.

....published in ORION #27 (April 1961, ed. Ella Parker).

DON'T DILLY DALI

Arriving at a convention, a s-f fan convention, with Masquerade Ball in full swing, is rather like stepping into a surrealist picture. One moment you are travelling through dark, wet-shiny streets; at an hour when the streets are dead - the next you are surounded by Green-faced Ghouls, Spacemen of varying hue, and Fine Feathered Females. One moment you are registering at the desk of a discreetly lit hotel lobby, the next you are in a gay hall hung with esoteric slogans and embellished with alien phrases - and filled with a fine welcoming crowd of people. Someone pushes a glass into your hand....another convention has started.

AND ALL THE PORTERS HAD CREWE-CUTS

British Railways did their usual worst for me on the, evening of Easter Saturday. I finished work at the firm at 5.30 p.m., caught the 5.32 p.m. train for Crewe by virtue of the fact that it left five minutes late - this was the only time during my journey that HR cooperated. I arrived in Gloucester just after 11.30 p.m. British Railways have now modernised a fair proportion of their system, I hate to think how long it's going to take to get places when they've finished. But I mustn't be bitter about BR, after all if the 5.32 had been on time I would have got to Gloucester even later!

I regretted, as usual, that I hadn't been able to get to the convention on its first day, but as you've probably gathered from the opening paragraph, arriving at a convention in full swing has an impact all its own. Memories of the rather tedious journey soon faded once I got my bags parked in a room, and found out where the parties were being held that night.

I'd met Ron Bennett in the con-hall end he came up with me to my room to hand over some cash he'd collected for TAFF, and to aquaint me with some of the hayppenings so far. He brought me a glass of Brown Ale, too, which helped nicely to start my re-orientation.

I didn't waste any time on unpacking, the only items to be dug out of my bag were Camera and Pyjamas (in case I went to bed that night, you know !) My room was way out - so far out that it was probably the only room in the hotel in the Borourgh of Cheltenham! - but it didn't take me long to find a party. I'm not quite sure who's room it was in, but it was quite a Kettering-style affair with every inch of space, on, besides, and under the bed fully occupied. Using my flash as a weapon, and the camera as a ruse - " just move over to the left a little " - I managed to make my way from one side of it to the other. It was a single room and it took me about ten minutes to get across it, that will give you a good idea how many fans were in there.

. Many of them were still in fancy dress, and there were some very fine and exotic costumes in evidence. I'd arrived a little too late to see all the ones displayed at the convention, but I've since seen colour shots of most, and it seems that everyone excelled themselves this year. Ina Shorrock in a Bird-woman costume designed by Eddie Jones (Thank You, Eddie!) was rather stunning; Moulto Bono as the Italians would say (a literal translation means 'Moult Soon'). Ethel Lindsay, looked devilishly dour in a sequined sporran. And some of the men had costumes, too. Eddie Jones had a fine spaceman garb, and Bob Richardson looked eminently alien. I'd liked to have been at the con in time for the grand-parade.

I found myself a firm stance in one corner of the room and proceeded to take photos. Apart from drinking, and talking, that seems to have been my main pre-occupation of the night - now, let's not have any dirty cracks about Bentcliffe Sublimating His Sex Instincts By Photography, please. Don't be nasty to the author! The strange thing about it all is that all my shots seem to have been in focus, and that I took some of the best photos I've over done. I was drinking, and got fairly high (possibly due to mixing Marsala with Vodka) during the wee small hours, and it seems to have had an excellent effect on my lensmanshup. One rather amusing thing happened, at some time during the night someone managed to whack my flash-gun with their elbow, and it promptly fell to pieces (in fact it did this several times over a space of two or three hours). However, each time I seemed able to make a mystic sequence of rapid movements with my hands and it was 'presto' back together again. I've since attempted to dissassemble, and reassemble the thing while sober, and it takes me almost ten-minutes!

This, by the way,in case you haven't realised it already, is a strictly personal report on the convention. I was too involved with things, TAFF, THIS IS YOUR LIFE, etcetra to even attempt to report, what other people were doing, or attempt any objectivity.

I had a fine time at the parties on the Saturday night to Sunday morning shift; Dave & Ruth Kyle had made it and we reminisced a little about Potsdam and Pittsburgh, and said 'My God, is it that long since!' I met Ian McCauley for the first time, and thought this latest ambassador from IF to be an excellent one - he said he'd recognised me immediately, and I wondered if it was from the punched-out silbuette in the Willis attic-wall, the time I played Ghoodminton with John Berry.... From the photos I took I seem to have been to several room-parties that night, and I recall snatches of many amusing conversations. And I wonder what Kingsley Amis was saying in the shot I have of Harry Harrison brandishing a bottle over he and Ted Tubb...

And then thore was the Mini-Bathcon. It wasn't called that at the time, but it seems to be as suitable a soubriquet as I can think of for it. The mini-bathcon had already started when I arrived on the scene with flash-bulbs flaring, it was a small select affair with a membership of three. Norman Shorrock, Bruce Burn, and Keith Freeman. I gather that it all started when Norman (or Bruce, or Keith) got a little tired of the crowded atmosphere of one room-party, end decided to seek solitude in a nearby bathroom. He was shortly joined (in the typical lemming-flow of fan movement at conventions) by the other two. Since there was nowhere else to sit, they sat in the bath. Since all three of the gentlemen concerned have a distinct aversion to 'dry' parties, the taps were turned on. At the time I arrived the bath was about a quarter full and Bruce, Norman, and Keith (fully dressed to shoes and socks!), with a contented look on their faces, were happily watching the tide come in....

Convention Guest of Honour, Kingsley Amis, looked in just after I arrived, but declined the cordial invitation to step into the bath and have a chat.

I'd a pretty full day ahead of me on the Sunday, so I decided to have a reasonably early night and went to bed about 4 a.m., after attending som highly enjoyable parties.

SYPHON SUNDAY

I didn't really feal like getting up for breakfast on the Sunday morning, but I did...probably because I don't like paying for something and not getting it. Britain can learn from America on the matter of Hotel Breakfast's; in the UK you pay for it whether you get it or not, and you have to be in the dining room by ten at the latest to ensure you do get it. I became addicted to ths American fan habit of getting breakfast in the afternoon when I was at Pittsburgh and it's sort of hard to break the habit. One thing you can say that the British Method breeds a race of hardy conventioneers...,even Norman Shorrock has been known to get up for breakfast at a convention! Well, occasionally. But what's it got to do with Science-Fiction you may well be asking...

As I recall it, I spent the greater part of Sunday morning booking down TAFF Donations, end subs to EPITAFF, and trying to have a word with the Cast of THIS IS YOUR LIFE... and fighting off Alan Rispin's attempts to borrow a sheet off my bed; he had the part of a venerable figure in TIYL. I'd have loaned him one, but if I'd had to go back to my room for it I would probably have missed the BSFA meeting - like I said, my room was rather far-out. The AGM of the B.S,F.A. went off quite well this year, and the Retiring Committee deserve a vote of thanks for their efforts during the year - and for inveigling actual volunteers for office for the new year. My Ghod, I don't know what British Fandom is coming to...,Volunteers!!

Ina Shorrock is now Chairman, Terry Jeeves Vice-Chairman, Joe Patrizio Secretary, Ted Forsyth Treasurer, and Jimmy Groves Editor. Other important business was the selection of Harrogate as the next Convention Site over the dead-body of Ron Bennett... I'm joking, of course, Ron was only too willing to agree to investigate the Harrogate hotels.

And since Harrogate is only a mere two-hour train journey away from here, I'm looking forward to next years convention.

THIS WAS YOUR LIFE - ERIC JONES Plans for TIYL started almost as soon as last years convention ended. After some thought I decided that Eric Jones would be a most suitable subject, and John Owen proceeded to once more turn out an excellent script. In true fannish manner nothing else was done until a few weeks before the convention. Apart from spreading a few rumours to the effect that Other People - Terry Jeeves, Ron Bennett, Wm Harrison - were actually to be the subject of the programme.I would have started in on producing the show earlier if it hadn't been for a certain journey I made last year .... however, it seemed to go over fairly well.

I'm greatly indebted to the cast who, unlike myself memorised their lines, and did a good job at shortish notice. Terry Jeeves took the part o£ an officer in the RAF Coastal Command Squadron which EJ . served in during the war - during the period when Eric was 'building the biggest rotary duplicator in the World, in No.3 Hangar'. Bruce Burn, who did an excellent job of portraying a Maharaja Eric had met in India, 'where he discovered Psionics and Hypnotism'. Bob Richardson, as one of the few living survivors of the s-f film made by Eric and the Cheltenham Group 'The Test'.... 'and later issued as the Student Prince' - Bob, managed to resurrect one of the costumes from the film and looked most impressive. Alan Rispin, who played the part of the Keeper of the St. Fantony Archives, and who got rather mixed up (intentionally) with 'Take Your Pick'. Norman Shorrock, appeared as himself with a wonderful box of electronics specially biult for the show by Eric Jones (who thought Terry Jeeves was the subject)....' a psionics machine which he had been using as a projector for 35mill films - which explained the picture quality he'd been getting!

Norman also helped prepare the tapes for TIYL, and John Owen lent his tonsils to the cause by impersonating Harrison, and 'Fingers Finnigan (a former school chum of Eric's now fallen on hard times',) on tape. Oh yes, and I'm indebted to the MISFIT Song Book for the, version of 'The Bradbury Hate Song' which was used to mislead the audience and Ron Bennett at the beginning of the show. I enjoyed doing the programme....and may publish the script in my APA-mag WALDO.

By the time TIYL was over my tonsils were feeling the need for something wet. I'd been suffering from a heavy-cold during the week and as I had a TAFF TALK to give a few hours later, I decided to humour them and went in search of Beer. Although the bar was closed I managed to find some, and with a cool glass of lager in my hand I returned to the con-hall to watch Ron do an excellent job on the TAFF AUCTION.

To follow this we had an 'Initial Quiz' conducted by Ken Sister, in which he proceeded to fire the initials of various s-f authors at a panel in the hopes that they would be able to decode them. They did pretty well, too. As I recall it this was followed by a break for refreshment, and Bruce Burn, Ron Bennett, Bob Parkinson, Ron Buckmaster, and I went out to a Chinese Restaurant for some expresso coffee and, of all things, fruit salad!.

Strolling back to the hotel we met several groups of people who had just decided that they wanted something on their stomachs before hearing my TAFF Talk .... I was quite pleased about this for my voice was suffering badly from wow and flutter and. a few extra minutes might help. We also met Brian Aldiss, who was already crying forth slogans for next years convention, "See You In Harrogate, Mate". Brian seems to get. more fannish (if he'll forgive the word) at each convention, and it wouldn't surprise me to see him ultimately give up professional writing and start putting out a fanzine. It's about time someone reversed the usual order of things.

The con-hall didn't seem in any immediate denger of filling up and clamouring for a TAFF TALK, so Ron and I ducked off up to my room so that he could see some of the photos I'd taken in the States. We talked all too briefly, too, of the parallel's in our respective trips - which will have become apparent if you've read both COLONIAL EXCURSION and EPITAFF. "And I knew Sylvia before Ted haad cornered the market..." A pleasant interlude, and I must try to get over to Harrogate soon so that we can finish the talk.

In typical Bentcliffe manner I hadn't prepared any notes for my talk on my American Experiences, however the trip is still so clear in my mind that I can talk about it at length at the drop of a hat - and I've noticed a distinct tendency amongst my friends not to drop hats in my presense of late! I don't recall now what I said, but I briefly (I had to keep it breif otherwise I'd have equalled the running time of 'Forbidden Planet') mixed in my route with a few reminiscences, and it seemed to go over allright....apart from the fact that my voice did keep petering out on me.Keith Freeman came to my rescue with a bottle of soda-water and a glass, and this helped but as I said'at the time, I hope no one got the impression that I'm in the habit of drinking soda-water neat.

Ever since Pittsburgh I'd had the idea of running an Auction Bloch at a British convention on behalf of TAFF, and this I was able to do after my talk. Authors Brian Aldiss, Ken Bulmer, and Walter Willis had previously agreed to allow their time to be sold for TAFF and I'm most grateful to them. Walt had also sent over one of the few remaining copies of the 'Harp Stateside' to be auctioned off, and Bruce Burn and Bob Parkinson had volunteered to have their beards auctioned for TAFF - I was rather amused when Alan Rispin bid for and bought Bruce Burn's beard, and can only assume that he is trying to whittle down the opposition! The big surprise of the 'Auction Bloch session however came from Kingsley Amis. Just prior to my going he's asked me to have a few minutes to say thank you to everyone for having him as Guest Of Honour. This I did, gladly, and immediately afterwards he volunteered to be sold for TAFF himself. Thank you, Kingsley, and all you other people for so helping to aid the TAFF intention of having two fans cross the Atlantic (one in each direction) in '62. Don's and my thanks go also to all of those of you who were kind enough to bid for our respective 'lots'.

The TAFF receipts from the Lxicon were at an all-time high for a British Convention. The TAFF Auction, with Ron Bennett autioneering raised the grand sum of £18.0.0., the 'Auction Bloch', £7.5.6., and the collection after the showing of the Musquite Kid', £ 3.13.6. And then there was the 'Cecil Knocker Auction' (!) which brought in a further ten shillings.

'GUARDIAN' ADOPTS FANNISH SPELLING

One of the first things I seem to have done on the Monday morning is to have read Geoff Doherty's report on the convention in the aforementioned paper. On an empty stomach, too. The nights parties had been well up to the standard of British Convention Parties, and I think it was about tennish when I groped my way towards the dining room - to be met en route by Tony Walsh peddling copies of the Guardian. I was still somewhat bemused, but the fact that the report referred to 'Faans' (with two a's) pierced the fog and helped to clear my mind. I felt like sending an immediate air-mail postcard to Boyd Raeburn, and I'd have done it, too, if it hadn't been for the fact that I felt I needed breakfast more!

The Lxicon was fortunate enough in receiving quite favourable press coverage, due in no small part to the fact that all the reporters. were actually people who attended the, convention, and not just reporters who had dropped in for something 'silly' to write about. There were criticisms of course, but they were valid ones from the viewpoint of the writers, and the general public. One quite good criticism made in the Guardian report, and stemming from Amis' speech, was that fans (presumably this was intended to mean the general s-f reading public since it was spelt with only one 'a'!) had come to accept the trappings of Time Travel, and such as an integral part of s-f, and that this was a somewhat pernicious influence. Pernicious, in that we accepted such things without thought. This is quite true, I think, but if we need to look for a parallel it can be found in most other forms of popular 'literature' as well. Particularly in 'westerns', where such assumptions as the 'fast draw' are readily accepted by author and reader. Personally, I'm quite willing to go on believing the s-f authors 'inventions' possible (so long as they seem logical), for the sake of the story, And no one can prove that they are impossible, can they?

Monday was a day of reluctant leave-takings. I sat around in the main lounge until time for my train homes talked with Brian Aldiss about s-f, Dave & Ruth Kyle about their plans to live part of the year in England (a plan which I'm wholly in favour of), and with just about everyone else left on how good a convention it had been. And it had been a Good Convention, one of the most enjoyable I've attended. Eric Jones, Keith Freeman, Tony Walsh, Ethel Lindsay, Bob Parkinson and the Cheltenham Group had put on the best all-round affair since the London Worldcon.

I reluctantly said goodbye to everyone shortly after noon, and left to catch the 'Pines Express' for Manchester. Just before I left I'd been talking to Dave Kyle about England. He'd said he prefered the slower pace of living here, and I'd said yes, this extended even to the railways; "For instance you can get to the station only five minutes before your train is due to leave, and still have half an hour for a coffee!" The 'Pines Express' was running some twenty-five minutes late, and I did have plenty of time for a coffee..... Many a true word spoken in jest department.

The weekend after the convention, Dave and Ruth came up to Liverpool, and we all started celebrating again..... but that's another story.

....published in BASTION #2 (August 1961, ed. Eric Bentcliffe).