SNEAKY GOINGS ON IN THE COMICS WORLD...?

Well, my spies were a little late reporting this one to me, but better late than never I suppose.  It's just been brought to my attention that, some weeks back, a certain blogger made remarks in the comments section of one of his posts which seem to suggest that he's responding to a particular (though un-named) individual with whom he's been known to disagree.

Now, call me a cynic, but if indeed he is referring to that specific person (which is the consensus of those who alerted me to it), why would he knowingly print comments from someone he's banned from his site and then respond to them?  It just doesn't add up.  Unless, of course, he wrote the comments himself to cast suspicion on that particular person and show them in a bad light.

I've seen it all now.  Oh well, onward and upward.

THEREIN HANGS A TALE - DITKO SPIDER-MAN COVERS...

Images copyright MARVEL COMICS

I suppose there's some kind of irony to waxing lyrical about the joys of holding an actual, physical comic and illustrating my post with images which you, the reader, will be viewing on a computer screen - but it's one we'll just have to live with I'm afraid.  In an age where the future of comics appears to lie in a digital format, wandering into a newsagent's and plonking down your pennies in exchange for a printed publication may well soon be a thing of the past, but to this old dinosaur, using a laptop, iPad or mobile 'phone to follow your favourite funnies or herculean heroes just can't compare to the 'real thing'.

There's something about the shape and feel of a comicbook, the ink on the page, the smell of the paper even - which the digital impostor cannot match, and - truth to tell and without meaning to be patronising - I feel kind of sorry for future generations if their only exposure to printed comicbooks is going to be looking at them in an airtight, temperature-controlled glass case in a museum somewhere.  Let's hope that the two formats - digital and traditional - can co-exist for many more years yet at the very least.

Anyway, back now to the fascinating subject in hand, which is the next batch of '80s MARVEL TALES reprints of '60s SPIDER-MAN adventures by STAN LEE and STEVE DITKO. Apparently, the FANTASTIC FOUR stories by Lee and JACK KIRBY were considered for a similar treatment, though I now forget if it would've been in a separate reprint mag or in Marvel Tales after the Lee and Ditko Spidey stories had run their course.  Not that it matters much because it never happened.  Readers had to wait until the advent of the MASTERWORKS series of volumes a few years later to see the early FF classic tales again.

Anyway, I'd better not keep you from the goodies any longer - enjoy these cataclysmic classic covers from yesteryear. 

Sharp-eyed readers will have noticed that the above image has been 'flipped' from its initial appearance and that DOC OCK's face has been changed to a more slimline version.  The glasses seem like an afterthought, not being rendered too well - and look as if they're about to fall off.

Also, when the original cover was first printed, back in the '60s, Stan Lee had Jack Kirby redraw the lower parts of Spidey's legs, being dissatisfied with Steve Ditko's rendition of them.  Curiously, for the Marvel Tales reprint they've been redrawn yet again, not matching either Ditko's or Kirby's versions.

Want to see more Marvel Tales/Spider-Man covers?  Just try and stop me!  For Part Three, click here.  For Part One, click here.)

LETTER In A SHOEBOX...

You know what it's like - things start to pile up and make the place look untidy.  If you're like me, you start stashing things away wherever you can find a space for them.  With yours truly, that space is usually an old shoebox, of which I have several.  Old letters (some unopened), bank statements, leaflets and the like.  I was going through one such repository of assorted items earlier this evening and discovered a letter from 1990 amongst the contents.  It was a nice 'thank you' letter from the woman who'd once lived in the very house in which I now reside, before swapping residences with us back in 1972.

As related in an earlier post (here), we lived in her old house for eleven years before moving elsewhere, only to move back again just over four years later.  We'd been back only a few months when a friend informed me that the field I'd played in as a boy (across the road from the house we'd vacated in 1972) was due to have amenity housing for pensioners built upon it, which, to me was very sad news indeed.  I always feel much the same when I hear of a childhood landmark about to bite the dust - there goes my past.

Anyway, one night I boldly chapped the door of my old abode and clued in Mrs. MAISIE MITCHELL (who remembered me from all those years before) about the upcoming fate of the field across the road.  Would it be all right to come along some day and capture it on film before it disappeared forever?  Mrs. Mitchell was agreeable to accommodating my over-developed sense of nostalgia, and, some months later, for the first time in sixteen years, I crossed the doorstep of my childhood home.  (Well, one of them.)

I got some good photos and made another couple of trips over the next few weeks, to grab a few more snaps of what I'd missed first time around (she'd kindly let me take some pictures all around the house) and, on the last occasion, to present her with a box of chocolates and a little ornament to thank her for her kind indulgence.  I also gave her a cassette tape of JIM REEVES and said I'd give her some other music the first chance I got.  Sometime later, I duly posted them to her as I didn't want to wear out my welcome by turning up on her doorstep yet again like the proverbial bad penny.

Some weeks (if not months) later, on the 14th of June 1990 to be precise, I received a letter from Mrs. Mitchell, thanking me for the cassette tapes and informing me that she'd now moved to another address.  (If I remember correctly, she told me in a subsequent conversation [either by 'phone or in person] that the tapes had been forwarded to her from the old address to which I'd sent them.)  She was only in her new flat for a few short years before she died, making the effort of moving seem more trouble than it was worth to my way of thinking, but obviously she had no way of knowing what the future held for her.  (Who does?)  Interestingly, her new home was quite close to ours, being only a few minutes away in the same neighbourhood.  It's a shame she never got to enjoy it for longer.

As I re-read her thank you letter, it brought back memories of my old home and my visits back there.  (I returned in 1991 to shoot a video, by arrangement with the new tenants who'd swapped with Mrs. Mitchell only the year before.)  It struck me as being somehow oddly significant to be reading a letter from someone who'd once lived in this very house, addressed in her own hand to her previous residence - while probably being completely unaware of the profundity inherent in such a situation.  When I'd posted her the cassettes, I was only too well aware of how strange it seemed to be sending something to an address that was still all-too familiar to me - that still felt like 'my' address, not someone else's.  However, I realize that not many people think in quite the same way I do, which, on reflection, is probably a good thing.

Anyway, I cleared out quite a few things from that old shoebox, but I decided to hold on to Mrs. Mitchell's letter.  It somehow seems right at home here.

DOMINIC HALPIN & The FIREBALL XL5...

A couple of years back, I posted something pertaining to FIREBALL XL5 and got a response from DOMINIC HALPIN & The HONEY Bs, a swing band who perform a brilliant cover version of the theme song from GERRY ANDERSON's puppet programme from the 1960s.

So, for all you Fireball fanatics (and lovers of good music), the accompanying video really is worth seeing. The song itself is preceded by a mini XL5 adventure - similar in style to the pre-credits sequence of a JAMES BOND movie - and can be viewed by clicking on this link.

Don't deprive yourself of a huge slice of fun - click on that above link NOW!

FANTASTIC COVER GALLERY PART EIGHT...

Copyright MARVEL COMICS

What's significant about the number forty-one?  That's the total of FANTASTIC covers we have left before we complete our look back at one of the best-loved comics of the '60s - as far as British readers were concerned anyway.  We might be past the halfway mark, but don't despair - we've still got quite a bit of the journey to go, including more BARRY SMITH pin-ups that a lot of you won't have seen before (unless you were around at the time).  So, sit back and enjoy numbers forty-three to forty-eight of "BRITAIN'S SUPER-HERO ACTION COMIC" - it truly was Fantastic!

SPIDER-MAN - MADE IN BRITAIN...

Copyright MARVEL COMICS

In September 1973 the second MIGHTY WORLD Of MARVEL Annual (for 1974) went on sale.  Still just called Marvel Annual (it wouldn't gain the full title of the weekly comic which spawned it until '77), it sported a cover by renowned British artist GEOFF CAMPION, who'd drawn many a strip in a bevy of U.K. weeklies over the years. (The SPELLBINDER in LION being perhaps the one with which he is most associated - certainly in my mind anyway.)

FLEETWAY/IPC published Marvel U.K.'s first couple of annuals on their behalf, so it was entirely natural to use a Fleetway/IPC artist to produce the covers.  As to why Geoff Campion in particular was chosen in the second annual's instance (apart from his obvious skill) is anybody's guess.  Perhaps he was just in the office that morning, but he certainly turned in a colourful piece of art - one which resonates with me to this day.

True, perhaps he didn't quite capture the essential 'spidery' nature of PETER PARKER's alter-ego, (not even JACK KIRBY could do that), but it's still a nice piece.  More a ROMITA Spidey than a DITKO one perhaps, but still an extremely effective illustration.  I recall the day I first saw this annual, as well as the one on which I bought it a few weeks later, but nothing of note happened to justify an account of them in this post.  Apart from the annual itself of course, the cover of which I now freely share with you here.

******

Update: (September 29th 2012.)  Believe it or not, some joker in America currently has this 'rare' annual up for sale at £432.87, plus £23.53 for postage and packing. Astoundingly, the postal amount alone is far more than the book is actually worth - or usually sells for in this country.  Some people sure have a brass neck, don't ya think?    

BEHOLD THE FAR HORIZONS - I WOULD IF I COULD...

You're looking at the view that could once be enjoyed from my bedroom window of the home I lived in from the mid-'60s until the early '70s.  The first picture was taken 16 years to the very day after my family had left the house, by arrangement with the then-current tenant with whom we'd exchanged residences so many years before.  Although not evident in the above pic, on a clear day one could see purple hills above the line of trees on the far horizon, but I captured them on film on a subsequent visit a few weeks later.

In the second scene, taken three years on (with the consent of new tenants), amenity housing for the elderly stands on the site of the field where the neighbourhood kids (and myself) once played in previous years.  A sign of the times I suppose, but I can't help lamenting the fact that our horizons are narrowing with every new building crammed into any space that once offered a welcome oasis of greenery amidst the concrete structures of our sprawling towns and cities.

Looks as if the living conditions of places like MEGA-CITY ONE might be a reality sooner than we thought.

Click to enlarge

******

And, just in case you're wondering, below is a close up of the view, taken a few weeks after the one at the top of the page.  See them thar hills.

 

The final photo is me three years later, with replacements of some of the toys I owned when I lived in the house.

    

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.

MEMORIES And IMAGINATION...

One tends to think of memory's magical kingdom as having fixed boundaries.  Only shadows of the past are allowed residence and interlopers are strictly forbidden.  However, the sentries can be fooled and intruders may sometimes sneak in under the cloak of familiarity if they bear a close enough resemblance to a recognised inhabitant.

"Okay, Gordie, you've lost the plot.  What are you blathering on about now?" you may well be thinking.  Simply this.  If you're around the same age as me, you may well remember the CAPTAIN SCARLET merchandise that was available back in the 1960s, particularly the DINKY diecast vehicles like the SPV, MSV, and SPC.  (Though nowadays it's usually referred to as the SSC.  Perhaps it was only Dinky who called it an SPC?)

I had all of them - and still retain the set I acquired many years ago as replacements for my originals.  I've had them for far longer than I ever owned their predecessors, although it doesn't actually feel like it.  It's almost as if there's never been a period in my life when I was without them, and that the ones I have today are the very ones I had as a kid; hidden in a cupboard somewhere for all those years until I rediscovered them after a long period of neglect.  That's not the case of course, it just seems that way.

However, there are other ways to fool the mind, and here's what I hope is an interesting example of just such an instance.  Back in the very early '90s, THUNDERBIRDS enjoyed a huge resurgence in popularity when the BBC broadcast all 32 episodes on network TV for the very first time.  Previously, back in the '60s (and with most subsequent repeats), they were shown in various TV regions on different days and times.  Amazingly, the '90s screenings were a huge success, spawning a level of merchandise to rival that which was available during the show's heyday.

The BBC tried again with STINGRAY and CAPTAIN SCARLET, but met with a more muted response from viewers.  However, having anticipated the same kind of enthusiastic reaction that INTERNATIONAL RESCUE had enjoyed, toy manufacturers launched all sorts of items to tie-in with the expected demand for all things GERRY ANDERSON.

Such an item was the SPV 'play set' by VIVID IMAGINATIONS, pictured in this post.  Now, here's the thing: I obviously bought this as a collector's piece, not to play with - and I purchased it while living in my present abode, with where one would naturally assume I would associate it. But no, whenever I cast eyes on it, I seem to see myself, as a kid, sitting on the doorstep in the back garden of my old house, playing with this exact same vehicle - even though this specific toy didn't exist at the time and wasn't made until around a quarter of a century later.

So vivid is the image that it does indeed seem like an actual memory - as opposed to what is obviously merely my imagination (see what I did there?), facilitated by the fact that I associate the familiar design of the vehicle with a particular period from my past.  In short, it's a perfect fit - and seems more at home in my memories of 1968 than of when I actually obtained it.

Funny how the mind can play such tricks, isn't it?  I believe it's called 'false memory syndrome', which is perhaps where 'Deja vu'-type feelings spring from.  Anyone got any similar experiences they'd care to share?  Feel free to let loose in the comments section.

 

The PIPER At The GATES Of DAWN...

Copyright relevant owner

It's no secret to those who know me that The WIND In The WILLOWS, by KENNETH GRAHAME, is my all-time favourite 'kids' book.  I'm especially partial to the E.H. SHEPARD illustrated edition, though I also have quite a few other versions featuring the work of different artists.  Apparently, ARTHUR RACKHAM was the author's first choice to supply the visuals (if it had to have some - I believe he (or Shepard) thought the book would be better without pictures), though the artist didn't actually get around to the task until about 30 years later, eight years after Grahame's death in 1932.  However, nice as Rackham's pictures are, it is Shepard's which remain the definitive ones.

When Ernest Shepard accepted the commission on the book, he was following three previous artists whose illustrations were far from satisfactory.  Shepard drew 'real' animals, whereas his predecessors had drawn anthropomorphic ones.  Grahame was delighted with Shepard's interpretation and, a few years later, the artist was called upon by the publishers, METHUEN, to provide eight colour plates for a special edition of the book, complementing his earlier evocative black and white line art which had preceded them.

As a treat, here are those eight colour pages - plus a copy of a letter from THEODORE ROOSEVELT which, though written 22 years before E.H. Shepard's drawings were commissioned and became such an indispensable part of the text, reveals that even U.S. presidents were not immune to the enchanting charms of Kenneth Grahame's classic work of literature.