A TALE OF TWO SANTAS...

 

Christmas selection box Santa

I was supposed to go to my primary school Christmas dance that

December night in 1968 or '69 - I had paid my 6d - but the thought of

having to undergo the embarrassment of prancing about with a bunch of

soppy girls far outweighed the tempting delights of ice cream, mince pies,

soft drinks and whatever other seasonal delicacies were on offer that particular

evening. The dance lessons in the school hall which had been sprung on us on

the run-up to the occasion were bad enough - what with me falling over my two

left feet and having about as much rythym as an epileptic on speed - but the

prospect of the actual event was more than I could bear. So I did the only

thing I could - I claimed I had a headache and wasn't feeling well and
thereby avoided the whole sorry spectacle altogether.

Later, when it was too late to attend the party, I staged a miracu-

lous recovery and trotted over to the shops across the road from my
house and spent my pocketmoney on, I seem to remember, a selection box
and a selection stocking. (Or was it only the stocking? I think it was both.) I
no longer recall if they were by Mars or Cadbury's, but the cardboard backing

to the stocking (unless I'm mixing them up) had a cut-out Santa puppet which I

actually assembled but never kept. However, I did snip'n'save the illustration of

the Santa, plus the one from the front of the box. Funnily enough, for years I had

associated this night with also buying a copy of TV21, which I recollect having

a fleet of FIREBALL XL ships taking off on the left-hand side of the page,

either on the cover or centrespread, but the only page I can find that that

fits the description does not match the year, so I suspect I'm mixing

two separate but similar evenings into one.
 

Christmas selection stocking Santa puppet illo

 

I'm not altogether sure, but I suspect the year of the party may've

been '69 rather than '68, because that would've been the last Christmas

that those of us due to attend secondary school after the summer holidays

of 1970 would see in our old primary. I therefore think that the dance aspect

of the party was to better prepare us pimply-faced youths for our adolescent

dealings with the opposite sex as we approached the next great stage of our
scholastic lives. In fact, now that I think of it, there was probably a dance
every end-of-year for pupils of a certain age. Younger kids would doubt-
less have a party with games on a different night, while older ones had
to endure the humiliation of having to foxtrot for their treats.

 

Cut to 1973 or '74, in another house in a different neighbourhood.

My mother was putting up the Christmas decorations and dressing the

tree, when I heard her say "Oh, I'll put these up!" In her hands she held the

two cardboard Santas which I'd cut out in a different decade and had neither

set eyes on nor thought about since the night of the Christmas dance several

years before. I took a look at them, and at some stage over the Festive period,

tried out my new red tempo fibre-tip pen on them for no particular reason I

can recall. They adorned the tree every year from then on, and occasionally

it would occur to me to regret having 'defaced' them with the marker-

pen. Ah, impetuous youth that I was, alas!

 

El Tempo Marker Pen

 

In the late '80s or early '90s, I decided to reverse my handiwork of

years before and once again took a red tempo marker pen to the red areas

of the cardboard Santas. My careful application had the effect of wiping the

previous marks of the tip edges from the surface, whereupon I then applied

red Rotring ink to completely restore them to an unblemished state. A fine

craft knife enabled me to trim any excess card outside of the lines that my

less than skillful 10 year old hands had missed back in the '60s and hey,

presto - my two Santas looked better than they had in a long-time.

 

I sometimes wonder if anyone who attended the event actually recalls

much about it after all these years, apart, perhaps, from vague impressions,

whereas one look at my pair of 'selection Santas' takes me right back to that

night in '68 or '69, and also another one in '73 or '74. Perhaps I should've gone

to the party, but I can't help but feel that my non-attendance made the evening

far more memorable for me than would otherwise have been the case. And it's

probably a fairly safe bet that I'm the only person from school who has two

tangible reminders of that evening to help me remember my experience of

it, as opposed to anyone who actually went to the thing and awkwardly

tripped, tumbled and toppled around the varnished hall floor in pursuit

of bruised and battered tootsies.

Happy memories - perhaps the best Christmas gift that Santa -

    or anyone - can possibly give.    

D.C. THOMSON GREAT, CHARLES GRIGG, PASSES AWAY...

 

 

Not many comic readers apart from diehard fans will even have

known his name, but just about everyone will recognise the names of

the characters he worked on. KORKY THE CAT, SPLODGE, FOXY,
KAT & KANARY and DESPERATE DAN to name but a few. Also
adept at light adventure strips, he drew THE RED WRECKER and
THE UMBRELLA MEN for THE DANDY, and turned his hand to
saucy seaside postcards for the BAMFORTH postcard company
around the early '80s.

 

A giant in comics illustration has passed from

this earth, but his works will endure.

 

 

R.I.P. CHARLES GRIGG -

 

1916 - 2013

 

 

 

 

THE INFLATABLE FLASH! FAVOURITE COMICS OF THE PAST - PART TWENTY-THREE...

 

We were on holiday in Rothesay, Isle of Bute, in 1970. I still recall
the comics I bought that year (which you can read about here and here)
in the little seaside town, and also a comic purchased by my brother - THE
FLASH #190. I remember him enthusing over the story: Flash is injured
and confined to a wheelchair, unable to walk or run. So he constructs some
miniature transistor circuits and affixes them to the inside of his inflatable
Flash uniform which he operates by remote control from the comfort of
his wheelchair - whilst, invisible to the naked eye, he propels it around
at super-speed. Unlikely, but entertaining nonetheless.
 

 

I recall that holiday for another reason also. THE CHAMPIONS
cards, issued as collectables related to the TV series from a year or
so before, were no longer available in my own neck of the woods, but
were still on sale in one little newsagent's near Rothesay. I bought myself
another set of them (disposing of the disgusting confectionary that accom-
panied them) and, once back home, I perversely cut off the white margins
on the cards, which lay strewn about the insulation in my loft for a couple
of years. When we moved house in 1972, on a last minute whim, I collec-
ted all those that I could see and deposited them in the loft of our new
home, where they likewise lay around for many a year.

I should explain that when I say Rothesay, I use the name inclusively
for Port Bannatyne also, as back then, I was unaware of the distinction.
To me (used to the much larger walking-distances of a new town), they
were only a short stroll apart and I, in my ignorance, would have regarded
them both as the same place. Our holiday home that year seemed to lie
somewhere between the two. (For the statisticians amongst you though,
Port Bannatyne lies two miles north of Rothesay on the same Isle.)

Anyway, as with most of the comicbooks I have, I've now had the
replacement for this issue far longer than either myself or my brother
ever owned the original. One glance is all it takes me to return me to an
enchanted fortnight on a beautiful Scottish Isle over 43 years ago. If you
have any memories asscociated with this particular comic, feel free to
share them in the comments section.

   

DO YOU KNOW HOW CHRISTMAS TREES ARE GROWN?

 

My livingroom at Christmas some years ago

Or made, even? In the case of the one I brought down from my loft

a few days ago, it's made of bristle 'branches' entwined by wire attached

to a wooden 'stem', from which the branches unfold to display the tree to

best effect - only to be folded back against the stem when it's time for it to

return to the loft for another year. At least, that was the process originally.

However, the wire is now too frail to withstand constant folding and unfold-

ing (and has been for many a year), so is now simply covered with a bag

before being returned to its accustomed place in the attic.

 

The tree is older than me and has graced every house I've ever lived

in. However, about a quarter of a century ago, some of the branches were

missing, having snapped off over its lifespan when the wire had become

fatigued past the point of flexibility. Also, some of the little red beads at the

end of each branch had become detached and were long lost to the shadows

of many a Christmas past. Then, one day, while walking past an OXFAM

charity shop, I espied my tree's twin in the window. I soon acquired it, and

then used it to replace the missing branches and beads on my own tree.

 

Standing back to admire the results of my restoration handiwork some

time later, my eyes fell upon the sorry remnants of the cannibalised tree

which I had so heartlessly lured to its doom, and I was suddenly consumed

by an overwhelming sense of guilt. The tree had trusted me, had accompanied

me willingly, believing itself welcomed into the bosom of a new family whose

Christmases it would happily share every year from that point on - only to be
ripped apart and cast aside upon arrival in its new home. I felt like an utter
b*st*rd. So eager had I been to restore my old tree, I hardly considered
the act of cruelty I was inflicting upon its doppelganger.

 

Ooer - the dog's up on the settee again

 

It could not be - it should not be - it would not be! What could

I possibly do however, to reverse my wanton act of vandalism on the

innocent tree and redeem myself, not only in my own eyes, but those of

the Spirits of Christmases past, present and future? A future now seemingly

denied to the tree I had plundered for spare parts. Then I noticed something

about the base of the tree, which, in all ways but one, was the double of

the base of the other tree, and hope rose in my remorseful heart.

 

The bases of both trees were portions of logs into which the stem of

 the trees were sunk. The logs had then been painted red with touches of

gold applied in places over the bark. However, although both trees were the

same size (or had been until my 'surgical' intervention), the base of the 'new'

tree was quite a bit thinner and thus seemed, in comparison to its double, out

of proportion to the rest of the tree. Had the tree been smaller, it would

have been a better match for its base.

 

A close-up of 'Junior'

 

That was the answer. I would use the remnants of the ruined tree to

build a smaller one more in keeping with the size of its base. I carefully

'operated' on the leftover branches, making sure that each tier reduced in

length from the bottom up, so that the natural fir tree shape was maintained.

The original stem had splintered when I had removed the branches for trans-

planting into my first tree, so I bought a replacement pole from a D.I.Y. shop,

wood-stained it, carefully drilled holes at regular intervals to accommodate

the surviving customised branches - and hey, presto - one mini-Christmas

tree, approximately half the size of its original dimensions and looking
for all the world as if it had always been that way!

 

Every Christmas since (approximately 25 or 26), both trees have shared

Yuletide duties in my livingroom, the original in the front half and 'Junior'

on top of the TV in the back half - each with their own set of lights to pierce

the descending darkness of December late-afternoons. And so shall it ever

be until my last Christmas on earth - and if they should survive my passing,

some kindly stranger, perhaps seeing them in a charity shop window, will

take them both home to brighten the Christmases of a new family

for many a long year to come.

 

 "God bless us, every one!"

ON THE SCENE: PART FOUR - FLASH GORDON...

 

 

Well, I did say it would be an occasional series, but I notice that

part three was posted back at the beginning of February, so perhaps

it's about time for the next instalment of ON THE SCENE with

THE SUPERHEROES, a magazine published in 1966.

 

Interestingly, FLASH GORDON was what I was called when

I was a full-time flasher a good while back. I had been thinking of

giving it up, but my pals said I should stick it out for another year -

boom boom!  (Ah, yes - the old jokes are the best.)

 

Anyway, enjoy reading about BUSTER CRABBE's alter-ego

and be sure to come back for part five (whenever it appears) -

THE RETURN OF CAPTAIN AMERICA!

 

TALES OF SUSPENSE COVER GALLERY...

 

 

Strange - I thought I'd already posted a TALES OF SUSPENSE

cover gallery, but as I can't find it anywhere on the blog, then obviously I

was mistaken. Never mind - here's one now, fearuring the first ten covers of

THE INVINCIBLE IRON MAN - from the appearance of his original suit

of iron armour to his first new version. Some classic MARVEL/JACK

KIRBY art from the '60s awaits your attention, so get stuck right in! 

 

(Incidentally, in recent MASTERWORKS and OMNIBUS editions,

the word 'Bull-Pen' on the cover-caption of #39 has been de-hyphenated

for some curious reason. Let's hope they restore it in later printings.)

 

Got a favourite cover? Go on - let us know which one (or ones)

in the ever-lovin' comments section. It's good to share!

 

 

Iron Man figure by Jack Kirby from splash page of TOS #43. Jack Frost,
'Pepper' Potts and 'Happy' Hogan figures by Don Heck

MAKING A BOLT FOR IT...

 

 

Here's a nice little mag that all fans of THE INHUMANS -

and NEAL ADAMS' art in particular - are sure to love: MARVEL's

one-shot collection of AMAZING ADVENTURES #s 5-10 and THE

AVENGERS #95. Featuring art by Adams and MIKE SEKOWSKY

(with inking by TOM PALMER, JOHN VERPOORTEN, BILL

EVERETT and FRANK GIACOIA), it's 104 blockbusting pages

of Merry Marvel Magnificance, contained within a cataclysmic

cardboard cover to rock your socks.

 

Here are a few random images to whet your appetite, frantic one.  

Sorry about the spine-crop - that's the way it is in the mag

UNDERGROUND, OVERGROUND - BUT NOTHING TO DO WITH THE WOMBLES...

 

 

I have to be honest and say that I'm not really a fan of underground

comics, the only one I ever purchased being COMIX BOOK #1 back in

1974 or '75. I'm unable to give the precise year due to the fact that, as U.S.

comics and mags came over here as ballast on ships, sometimes they could

lie around in warehouses for months - if not years. (Although, on occasion,

they reached newsagents' spinner-racks on or around the actual month on

the cover - don't ask me how.) I don't suppose it much matters to you, but

as I tend to use comics as a calendar to chart my life, I prefer to be

able to pinpoint events with unerring accuracy.

 

I yet recall the long-gone little newsagent's shop on the far reaches of

my home town's old village quarter where I bought the above periodical -

as well as quite a few other fondly-remembered comicbooks and magazines.

I browsed through it and saw that it had a STAN LEE connection, 'though,

truth to tell, I wasn't too impressed by it. It was a 'compromise' comic - in

that it didn't really feature the same kind of content as 'real' underground

comics (or 'comix' as they're usually called), but it looked like one

even if it didn't quite read like one.

 

 

I bought it mainly because it was a first issue, but I soon decided to

ditch it, first extracting the only strip I considered worth keeping - the

four-page ALICE IN WATERGATELAND - which you can read below as

I was savvy enough to hang onto it for the last 38-odd years. Just as well I

did, because it's not featured in the new tome, THE BEST OF COMIX

BOOK, a collection of the 'best' strips from the five issue run of the '70s

mag - the first three of which were published by Marvel. I only ever

saw #1, not knowing that there were others until fairly recently.

 

If you're into underground comix, then you're more than likely

to enjoy this little piece of history. I bought it because I wanted to see

the cover again, the better to lose myself in memories of yesteryear, and

a much-missed shop that could always be relied upon to provide me with

some four-colour treasures in which I could lose myself in the magical

realms of fantasy for a few fanciful hours. However, I plan on actually

reading the stories contained within this handsome volume, just to

see what I missed all those many years ago.

  

 

And here's the cover of the new book, featuring the work of JUSTIN

GREEN, ART SPIEGELMAN, ALEX TOTH, S. CLAY WILSON,

HOWARD CRUSE, HARVEY PEKAR, MICHAEL PLOOG,

TRINA ROBBINS, BASIL WOLVERTON - and many more!

TEENAGE TALES: TEATIME TREATS - OF THE UNRECIPROCATED VARIETY...

 

 

As regular readers of this blog will know, I spend an inordinate

amount of time looking back on my early years, and one of the things

that recently struck me was just how differently some of my friends'

parents treated me when I was a teenager, as compared to how my

parents treated most of my pals.

 

For example, whenever any known member of my motley crew

came to the door for me, they were invariably invited in, and quite a

few times my mother would feed the fortunate individual if they called

when she was just about to make something to eat. If I was having fish

and chips then whatever pal had been fortunate enough to drop in
was also treated to the same culinary delight as myself.

 

However, it seems to me that, whenever I called in to visit

certain pals, I was kept waiting at the door if it was answered by a

parent - and one time, calling in on one particular pal at a prearranged

time in order to go somewhere, I was told "He's still in his bed!" and

had the door closed on my face. Sorely tempted as I was to say "Well,

get him out of bed then!", my somewhat lame "He's expecting me!" as

the gap in the door narrowed had no effect. On the other hand, if ever

I was in my bed when a friend called, they were still invited in and

I would be told to rouse myself as quickly as possible.

 

I can't recall, with one possible exception, any of my friends'

parents ever feeding me if I should mistime my visit and chap their

door when they were fixing on getting around to eating. Usually I'd

be told "He's just about to have his tea!" and find myself staring at a

door. And I'd imagine it was the same for any other friends that called,

not just me - although I can't prove it, so maybe I just gave off the

wrong vibes. Can't see how 'though - I was never a ned and

certainly didn't dress (or behave) like one.

 

Of course, this doesn't apply to everyone I know, as some

pals never called at food-times - or vice-versa - but it happened

in the case of a few long-term regulars. I guess I'll just have to put

it down to my parents being better-mannered and more welcoming

than those of some of my pals. Names are withheld, of course, to

spare the blushes of the guilty parties.

DC LEGEND AL PLASTINO PASSES AWAY...

 

Sadly, veteran comic artist AL PLASTINO passed away on
November 25th at the age of 91. Plastino drew SUPERMAN,
BATMAN and various other DC COMICS characters through-
out his long and illustrious career, even redrawing JACK KIRBY's
Superman in FOREVER PEOPLE #1. Another legend leaves
comicbook fans the poorer for his passing.

R.I.P. AL PLASTINO

DECEMBER 15th, 1921 -
NOVEMBER 25th, 2013