THE GREAT THUNDER MYSTERY OF 1972...

THE MYSTERY OF TRUNDLE HILL

Regular readers may remember me relating the boring story of how I acquired the first THUNDER Annual (for 1972, released in 1971) in a previous post.  If you haven't read it and have masochistic tendencies, just click on this link - I'll wait for you right here.

However, there's another little tale relating to the book and, as I'm struggling for something interesting to write about (no change there then), I might as well see if I can make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.  Well, an imitation silk purse at the very least.

I can no longer remember the exact year; suffice to say that it was either sometime in 1968 or '69.  My family were visiting relatives who lived about 15 minutes' walk away from where we then lived.  They were aunt and uncle to my brother and myself, and lived across the road from a grandmother and her daughter (another aunt obviously), and just around the corner from yet another aunt and uncle.  So, in case you're confused and although it doesn't have much to do with the story, that's three aunts, two uncles and one grandmother, all on the paternal side.

Not too long before, my elder brother and I had each received a SPIROGRAPH set as a Christmas gift from the aforementioned aunt and uncle.  One of the pens in my set was half-full and displayed a set of teeth marks at one end where someone had obviously being gnawing at it.  I never gave it much thought to be honest, and just got on with wasting reams of paper in the production of pointless patterns that served no purpose in the development and advancement of either mankind or myself.

Anyway, on this particular visit, a female cousin (the offspring of the other aunt and uncle 'round the corner) came in and asked if they had seen her Spirograph set which she'd left there a few weeks previously.  He replied in the negative, and when she left the room, turned to me and my brother and whispered "Don't tell her, but I sat on it and broke it!"  I thought of those teeth marks on the half-filled pen and had my suspicions, but wisely kept my own council.

A few years later, in 1972, we were visiting this aunt and uncle again.  I had with me on that occasion my THUNDER Annual and also a LION & THUNDER Holiday Special.  Also present were that selfsame cousin (or perhaps her sister) and a male cousin of yet another aunt who lived in Edinburgh.  (What can I say?  It was a big family.)  The boy asked me if I'd lend him my annual and special to take home and read.  I politely declined.  As he lived in Edinburgh, it might be ages before I saw them again.

THE SPECTRE OF ROSEWARNE HALL

A few minutes later, my uncle casually enquired of me whether he could have a look at my prized possessions.  (No, behave!  Not those 'prized possessions' - it isn't that kind of 'uncle' story.)  He took a leisurely look through them and then, referring to a few articles in the annual, said "I love ghost stories.  Can I borrow these to read in bed tonight?  Don't worry, I'll look after them."

I was reluctant of course, but couldn't think of a way of refusing without possibly causing offence so I let him 'borrow' them.  Big mistake.  When I eventually got the Annual back some months later (and then only because my parents, at my insistence, persisted in enquiring when the items might be returned), we were living in a new house.  The book was in a dog-eared condition - and, much to my dismay, I never saw my Holiday Special again.

Cut to approximately twelve years later, which at that time was practically half my life away.  My family were now living in yet another house, but on this particular night everybody was out and only me and the dog were in residence.  The front doorbell rang, and when I opened the door, there was the very aunt and uncle of whom I've just been telling you.  They were all for leaving when informed that my parents were out, but, determined to be hospitable, I invited them in for a cuppa and some biccies.

During the course of the next half hour or so, in my eagerness to make conversation, I asked my uncle whether he still enjoyed reading ghost stories.  I was surprised and puzzled by his response, which was that he'd never had even the slightest interest in reading ghost stories in his life.  I reminded him that he had once borrowed my Thunder Annual for that very purpose, but he evinced no recollection of the night in question and pooh-poohed the likelihood of the very idea.

THE HAUNTING OF HARRISON'S CASTLE

Now, obviously (and, sad to say, justifiably) you'll be sitting there thinking that I'm a bit of a thicko.  However, it was only then - twelve years after the actual event - that the penny dropped and I realised that I'd been conned back on that night in 1972.  My uncle had obviously heard my cousin asking to borrow my book and comic, and had feigned an interest in order to acquire them on his behalf.  The B*ST*RD!  It should've come as no surprise I suppose.  If he was willing to steal a Spirograph from one relative to give to another, then clearly he was a criminal mastermind of monumental proportions and nothing was beyond his unscrupulous aspirations.

    

Well, today, I have three copies of that 1972 Annual to replace the original, but I've yet to acquire the Holiday Special to fill the space vacated by my first one from all those years ago.  I must see to it before I become senile and start forgetting my own name.  Should I succeed in locating one*, I'll be lucky to have it for the same time it's been absent - a sobering thought indeed.

(*UPDATE: Shortly after writing this, I managed to acquire a copy.  For details click here.)

Hopefully, you've found something to entertain you in this rambling reminiscence, but if not, console yourself with the wisdom you've just newly acquired, which is simply this: Just because someone is related to you, it doesn't necessarily mean that you can trust them.  You knew that already?  Oh, well - back to the keyboard.  In the meantime, enjoy the pretty pictures.