CRIVENS! MIGHTY MARVEL COVER GALLERY - PART SIXTEEN...

Images copyright MARVEL COMICS

By the time the last comic in this particular post went on sale, the green spot-colour which had graced some pages of the weekly MIGHTY WORLD Of MARVEL had disappeared.  Apart from the front and back cover, the few full-colour pages were already long gone and, sad to say, MWOM was beginning to look like a sad imitation of its former self.

Dull grey tones which obscured the art were becoming a prominent feature of the Marvel periodicals and did them no favours at all.  In fact, it's surprising that, over in the States, those responsible for the weeklies allowed the situation to continue for so long, because the printing was truly dire.

And make no mistake - by and large, the murky mess was the fault of the printing, because, as I understand it, the team responsible for the tones in Marvel U.S. 'black & white' mags was the same one who attended to the British weeklies - and the American mags turned out fine.

Take a look at the full-page ad for The AVENGERS further down - believe it or not, I've lightened it up a bit so that you can see it better, but it's still far too dark in places - to the detriment of JACK KIRBY's & DICK AYERS' art.  Some of the pages in later issues were almost black, so impenetrable was the poorly printed Zipatone (Letratone to us) which afflicted the mags

However, despite all that, happy memories abound on sight of these iconic images of yesteryear - for me, anyway.  Let's hope that they produce the exact same result on you if you were lucky enough to own these mags when they first came out  - 40 years ago.  (Wow!)  All together now...

"Make Mine Marvel!"

PICKING & CHOOSING - A PERPLEXING PROBLEM...

Images copyright relevant owners

Anyone else got this problem?  Every so often I feel that I should have a clear-out and reduce my vast collection of stuff to a more manageable size.  After all, I've got books and comics that I haven't looked at in decades, so what's the point in keeping them?  Especially as it might well be eons before I ever look at any of them again.

However, I find that, when I begin to go through things, memories and associations suddenly start springing to mind at the merest glance of seemingly long-forgotten possessions that have lain hidden for years, and I find myself unable to bear the thought of parting with anything.

How do the rest of you deal with such a situation?

BOND - JAMES BOND, 007...

Copyright relevant owner

Here's one that someone out there might be able to help me with.  Above is a JAMES BOND Annual from the '60s, which resides in my vast collection of books, comics, and other assorted items from the past.

However, unfortunately there's a page missing.  Can anyone provide me with full-size scans of page 17 & 18 so that I can restore it to the book?  Or tell me if any Bond DVDs currently available have the Annual as part of a PDF file?  (I've actually got the boxed set of 007 movies, but I don't fancy going through them all to check for myself - lazy buggah that I am.)

So, if you think you can help me restore the book to its former glory, please let me know in the comments section.  I'd be much obliged.

******

And thanks to BARRY PEARL, a facsimile of both sides of the page has now been restored to the book.  Ta, Baz.

PART FIFTEEN Of The MIGHTY WORLD Of MARVEL COVER GALLERY...

Images copyright MARVEL COMICS

Well, another look at some covers and interior images from The MIGHTY WORLD Of MARVEL must be long overdue, so let's remedy that situation right away.  By this time, the colour within MWOM was fast-diminishing - only the exterior covers were still full-colour and the interior spot-green was soon to disappear, leaving only deadly dark and overdone grey tones which obliterated most of the detail.  It's not too apparent in the following pages, but you'll see in the next part how evident the decline is.

So be sure to join us again then.  Meanwhile, enjoy the pretty pics presented for all you particular patrons of this pandemonious place of powerfully perfect pages and pulsating pin-ups.

I got my original copy of this ish while on holiday in Blackpool in 1973.  It contains no pin-ups, alas

MOONLIGHT, MEMORIES & MADNESS...

Image copyright DC COMICS

Above is the cover to a comic which reminds me of three other comics at the same time.  "How is such a feat of mighty memory-mastery possible?" you may be asking.  So, let us now, by the power of our imaginations, return to October 7th 1972 and the Old Village quarter of my hometown, where I, resplendent in my brother's cast-off cord jacket - slightly too big for me and worn for the first time that Saturday morning - was attending a jumble sale held in aid of the 8th Scout Troop in the 'old hall' in the grounds of the Old Parish Church.

This and subsequent images copyright MARVEL COMICS

I'd previously purchased The MIGHTY WORLD Of MARVEL #2 earlier that morning, and, later, SUPERMAN #251 en route to the village.  Now, in the kind of hall that spoke of a long-vanished age - anything from the '20s to the '50s - I was to add MARVEL SUPER-HEROES #1 and TERRIFIC #1 to my awesome acquisitions.  The previous owner seemed to have used the issue of MSH as a dartboard at some point, but it was still readable, and I think it was the first time I'd owned a complete copy of that particular Terrific, a U.K. weekly launched five years earlier which had graced the shelves for a mere 43 issues.

Looking for a place to pore over my comics as I left the jumble sale, I wandered around to the back of an adjacent, nigh-derelict building (a dentist worked in a room or two on the upper floor) which adjoined the local, centuries old public house next to the church (and overlooked the graveyard).  It was an inquisitive boy's delight, and a week or so later, under the dark velvet canvas of the star-kissed heavens, yours truly and a friend were crawling across the roof of the pub, and even using the exterior, cast-iron fire-escape staircase to gain access to the back 'courtyard' below.  This location became the source of surreptitious exploration every so often over a period of two or three years and holds many happy memories for me.

So, I can't look at any one cover without also thinking of the other three - or of that jumble sale, my cord jacket, and an old pub next to the final resting place of long-gone local 'worthies', who had doubtless quaffed many a flagon of ale centuries before in the very building over whose slates two teenage boys daringly defied death in the airy Autumn moonlight.

******

The building at the back of the pub

Interestingly, I occasionally visit the upstairs lounge bar for a soft drink and a bag of crisps, and have done for many a year now.  It's an odd sensation to think, while sitting there, that I'm under the very roof I once crawled over as a 14-year-old lad so very long ago.  I sometimes wonder if any modern-day counterparts of me and my pals have ever retraced our footsteps (and handprints) in the years since we first braved the slates, but it's unlikely.  The building at the back of the pub is now residential and access to the roof can no longer be obtained through its grounds.

******

 For an earlier mention of my rooftop adventures, click here.

UNKNOWN PLANET - A FIREBALL XL5 ADVENTURE...

Images copyright relevant owner

From the 1963 FIREBALL XL5 Annual, comes this awesome adventure featuring COLONEL STEVE ZODIAC and his colourful crew.  It was illustrated by ERIC EDEN, I believe - but I'm not 100% certain to be honest, so feel free to correct or confirm.

Want to see any more Fireball Annual tales?  Then let me know in the comments section.

   

THE FORGOTTEN ONES...?

A former residence

A few years ago, a neighbour from hell moved in next door.  Parties at all hours of the night, people constantly coming and going accompanied by the continuous clinking of carry-outs in the early morning - along with shouting, singing, stomping, screaming, etc.  Luckily, he's now gone and a nice, respectable young couple have taken up residence.

They've now been there for around three and a half years, but it seems as if they only moved in fairly recently.  This has led me to consider the following curious concept which has recently crept into my consciousness.

There have been a couple of houses in my lifetime in which we lived for only four years, plus one we occupied for a mere 15 or 16 months, and despite it seeming to me as if we lived in each of those houses for a good long stretch, I've now started to wonder if, to our neighbours at the time, it seemed as if we were merely a temporary blip in their everyday lives.

If my new neighbours' three-and-a-half-year-occupancy seems far less to me than it is, then it stands to reason that the almost similar short periods in which my family resided in some houses may likewise have appeared to others to be terms of no consequence.  Are we remembered by name by those we lived next to, or are we dimly-recalled shadows that barely register in the histories of some of the areas we stayed?

It's strange to look back on my relatively short time in those places, and to realise that, although they're well-established, carved-in-stone 'epochs' in my life - the details of which are firmly entrenched in my memory - to those neighbours who preceded us and remained long past my family's departure, our time there may be only brief, nearly forgotten interludes in their overall recollections of events.

Makes you wonder eh?  (Nah, probably not.  It does with me though.) 

JUMP ABOARD The TV EXPRESS - FOR The HUCK & YOGI SHOW...

Copyright relevant owner

As a little Sunday treat for you all, here's a page from a 1960s issue of TV EXPRESS, featuring HUCKLEBERRY HOUND and YOGI BEAR.  It's interesting to note that Huck is the main star here, with Yogi being essentially a page-filler, as reflecting his then second-string status on the big blue dog's TV show.  Of course, Yogi soon got a show of his own, and actually eclipsed Huck in terms of popularity and longevity, becoming a far bigger draw than his canine pal.

That's Showbiz!

RETURN Of The LOOPY LAPSES In LOGIC DEPT...

Copyright DC COMICS

So, you're SUPERMAN, right?  You've got your own secret hideaway located in the Arctic.  Being the strongest man in the universe, you could have the entrance hidden by a huge boulder which you could easily move out of the way whenever the occasion requires.  Nothing would look out of the ordinary, and nobody would even think to guess that you had a private fortress to which you retreat for a little solitude from time to time.

So what do you do?  You build a bloody huge gold-coloured door in the side of a mountain which nobody can miss, then put a keyhole slap-bang in the middle of it which looks almost big enough to drive a Mini-Cooper through.  The key, supposedly disguised as an aeroplane marker (and which points straight to the door), is too large and heavy for anyone but superbeings to lift, but is utterly redundant because, with the aid of an extending ladder or a grappling hook to reach it, anyone can walk straight through the big-as-a- tunnel keyhole*.

Superman, you really can be as thick as a plank at times, don't you think?

******

*And I know that all sorts of retroactive explanations were later devised to explain (away) why it isn't quite as simple as that, but the original idea as it stood was plainly ridiculous. 

HORSES For COURSES...?

Image copyright DC COMICS

I've had the above comic for a good many years now.  I'd first seen it back in the late '60s in my primary school playground, clutched in the hands of one of my classmates, who acquiesced when I asked him for a closer look.  So, I recall the cover, but don't think I ever got to read the contents, which is why I probably bought it at a comic mart over 20 years later - to satisfy my curiosity.

Consider that cover for a moment though.  It actually represents the SUPERGIRL back-up tale rather than the main SUPERMAN story, and involves the BIZARROS - so I'm sure you can imagine how - er, 'bizarre' it is.  When one considers what MARVEL produced at the time, it's perhaps surprising that DC are still with us today.  NATIONAL PERIODICALS (as DC Comics were called back then) wrote mainly for children (wrote down to children would perhaps be a more accurate assessment), while Marvel set their sights on a wider readership.

Nowadays, the products of both companies are virtually indistinguishable, featuring murky art, tedious, seemingly never-ending storylines, and aimed at a much older audience.  Considering that the concept of superheroes is basically one of adolescent wish-fulfilment, it sometimes occurs to me that there's something unseemly about such fables being pitched exclusively at an older audience and dealing with 'adult' themes.

I'm not saying that grown ups shouldn't be reading comics, but I feel that they should be prepared to appreciate and accept them for what they are (or were, and should be again): Simple morality tales rooted in fantasy which children and teenagers can enjoy - and also adults who retain the ability to enjoy things from a more innocent and youthful perspective, without expecting everything they read to cater to their 'grown up' tastes.

So perhaps the idea of a superpowered horse is going too far the other way, but comics as they were in the '60s and '70s (as produced by Marvel) is perhaps the way to go when it comes to making comicbooks more attractive to a wider age-range - as opposed to just a bunch of ageing 'fanboys' who can't let go of the things of their youth, but demand that they reflect more 'mature' sensibilities in order to deflect any hint of criticism that they never grew up.

Observations reflecting different shades of opinion on the subject will be greatly appreciated.

PART SIX Of The DALEKS SWEET CIGARETTE CARDS By CADET...

Copyright BBC TV and the Estate of TERRY NATION

Well, what more can be said about CADET's DALEKS sweet cigarette cards that you don't already know?  Nothing I can think of, but if you have something to add, feel free to do so in the comments section.  Go on - share your knowledge with the rest of us.

Only another 20 cards to go for a complete set, so don't forget to be here when the next five appear in part seven.

TEENAGE TALES: PREDATORS, PERVERTS & PENTHOUSE...

This is going to be a long one, so you might want to pour a cup of tea and grab a biscuit or three before you begin.  Though, truth to tell, it might not be entirely comfortable reading.  I'm now about to relate a personal anecdote of a situation from which I was fortunate enough to escape unscathed.  Physically unscathed that is, but the incident left its psychological mark on me for many years afterwards and still affects me to this day.

It all began in the upstairs cafeteria of my local Co-op store back around 1973, possibly '74.  I had just washed down a plate of beans with a Coke (hardly a good mix) and suddenly found myself in need of a visit to the toilet.  While perched on the porcelain, I noticed that the previous patron had amused himself by singeing the edges of the loo roll attached to the cubicle wall.  I'd guess it was more out of boredom than a wanton act of arson, by someone having a fly puff in the loo - probably a shop worker, in fact.

It really wasn't worth mentioning to the staff, but, on my way out, I did so anyway - more to demonstrate what a conscientious customer I was than because it was deserving of their attention.  (Or perhaps it was merely a simpering, shameless example of ingratiation in the best Cyril Swot tradition.)  Cut to a fortnight later when I was back in the cafe, and I was suddenly detained by two members of staff while the police were called.  When they arrived, I was questioned over the events of two weeks before, taken 'round to the local nick and kept in a detention room for an hour or so, then let go.  I wasn't charged with anything, but was told that officers would be calling 'round to my house later to chat with my father.

This presented a bit of a problem for me, because my father actually worked behind the desk in that very station.  ('Twas his day off that day.)  Even though I hadn't actually done anything, I was mortified by the professional embarrassment this could cause him, so decided to side-step the situation by doing a 'runner'.  Not being a smoker I didn't carry matches, but was concerned that the mere act of being suspected of 'fire-raising' might be presumed by my father as an indication of my culpability in the matter.

So I hopped on a bus to Glasgow and took refuge in another cafeteria - this time in the basement of a cinema.  It was quite a large cafe, so I sat in a far corner and, being weary from the events of the day, I put my arms on the table and rested my head on them.  I must have dozed off for a bit, for when I lifted my head, a man was sitting opposite me (at my table), stirring a cup of tea.

Believe it or not, back in the early '70s, most kids weren't anywhere near as 'street smart' as they seem to be today - and I was probably even more innocent and naive than my contemporaries.  I wasn't at all comfortable with this stranger's presence, but it was well beyond my ability or experience to conceive, never mind articulate, exactly what his motives might be - and I had been brought up to always be respectful to adults.

Mindful of the fact that I was a 'runaway', and eager to avoid arousing his suspicions and thus betray myself, I politely answered his questions as to my name and where I lived.  I lied, of course, telling him that I stayed somewhere behind the Barrowland market and that I was killing time until my father came home from work because I didn't have a front door key.  "Glasgow's not a safe place for a youngster to hang around in.  Come back to my place for a cup of tea and you can wait there until he's home - it's not far!" he said.

What was I to do?  In my over-active, 14 year old imagination, I feared that if I declined, he might divine my status as a fleeing fugitive and hand me over to the 'fuzz'.  Although my 'spider-sense' was tingling, my youthful innocence and ignorance meant that I was ill-equipped to determine any specific threat - certainly nothing of a sexual nature - that should've prevented me from accepting this apparently kindly-intentioned stranger's invitation.  And so it was that, not too long after, I found myself sipping tea in the bed-sit apartment of this 'good Samaritan'.  At least it would get me off the streets for an hour or two, I thought.

Well, you can see where this is leading, can't you?  (If only I had been so smart.)  Laying on a table beside me were some 'soft-porn' mags like Mayfair, Club, and Penthouse, which he invited me to peruse if I so wished.  I self-consciously thumbed through one or two, thinking that it wasn't normally an activity in which teenage boys indulged in the company of adults.  Surely such pursuits were meant to be solitary, furtive and guilty pleasures?  Truth to tell, I found myself more interested in the comic strips, recognising Stingray and Captain Scarlet artist Ron Embleton's distinctive style on a strip called Oh, Wicked Wanda.

And then reality finally, inevitably, intruded.  "How often do you see to yourself?" he suddenly enquired - though that wasn't exactly how he phrased it, instead using the 'w' word.  I was shocked and stunned.  Remaining as civil as possible under the circumstances, I told him it was time for me to go, and before too long, I was on a bus home, prepared to face the music from the earlier episode that day.  It was preferable to dancing to the different kind of tune that my 'host' no doubt intended to play.

So why didn't he try to prevent me leaving?  It's obvious what his intentions were, but perhaps he salved his conscience by only exploiting youngsters who could be led, perhaps in their confusion or fear, down the route which he tried to steer them.  Then, if caught, he could claim that they were 'up for it'.  Had he mistaken my acceptance of his invitation as a sign that I was aware of what his 'game' was, and curious to discover what was involved?  Had my obvious shock at his question and stout refusal to be drawn made him realise his mistake, and that here was no potential participant?

Whatever his reasons, I avoided a terrible fate that night, but while the individual's predatory behaviour deserves nothing but total condemnation, I used to sometimes wonder if he deserved a (grudging) measure of credit for not trying to satiate his unwholesome desires by force.  But no, his reluctance to do so was doubtless nothing other than a shield reserved in the armoury of his own defence lest he ever be hauled to account, not any form of consideration for those he concluded were beyond his ability to 'seduce'.

So, physically, I was unscathed, but for years afterwards, I would sometimes have panic attacks at the thought of what could have happened to me.  I'd break out in a sweat and the room would spin; I'd feel as if I was suffocating and gasp for air, while a sense of fear, nausea and impending doom engulfed me.  This also happened in the form of nightmares, from which I would suddenly awake as though my life depended on it.  Even today, there are certain scenes in some movies that I cannot watch without feeling distinctly uncomfortable, and I can only guess at how awful it must be for those who have actually suffered sexual abuse to see such depictions regularly on their TV screens - all in the name of 'entertainment'.

(I saw a Jennifer Aniston movie on TV recently which had what appeared, at first, to be a rape scene.  Even though it later turned out not to be as it seemed, I was quite shocked at the graphic depiction of proceedings and could see just how traumatic the scene must be for victims of such a crime.  There must be thousands, even millions, of them.  Surely it's time for movie makers to exercise a far greater degree of responsibility - not to mention sensitivity - when it comes to what they actually show in their productions ?)

Anyway, that was my narrow escape.  In the more aware times in which we live today, I would have undoubtedly told the predatory paedophile to "feck off" and perhaps even administered a quick kick in the nuts before vanishing over the horizon in a cloud of dust.  However, back then it was a different, less informed age, and while I believe that the innocence of youth should be preserved for as long as possible, I'm smart enough to know that striking a balance between the protection of youngsters' mental purity and physical safety is a difficult (and often thankless) task indeed.

My biggest regret over the incident?  I really do wish it had occurred to me to boot him right in the spuds.  Let's hope that someone actually did so, eh?  Several times over, while wearing size ten, steel toe-capped footwear.