WHY NOT GO COMMANDO?

All images copyright D.C. Thomson & Co., Ltd.  Click on image to enlarge

Here's a New Year Special Offer that all lovers of war stories

might want to consider.  Go on - GO COMMANDO now!

www.Commandocomics.com

(Covers used for illustration purposes only.)

COMPLETE SUPER DC COVER GALLERY...

Images copyright DC COMICS

Strike while the iron is hot, they say, so while there's currently a bit of interest in SUPER DC around here, I thought I might as well go the whole hog and present all 14 covers at the one time, along with a few associated images.  I've shown them before, of course, in three parts a few years back, but consider this a handy omnibus edition that'll save you trawling through the archives.

I've always found it immensely interesting how we associate certain things with certain times.  To me, these comics represent the start of the '70s, though, back then, there wasn't really anything different about the early '70s to the late '60s which preceded them.  I was a teenage schoolkid who lived in the same house as when I'd been at primary, still hung out with the same pals, and all the things with which I was familiar were yet present in my life; i.e. my favourite shops, TV shows, people, places, and the like.

That's the thing about different 'eras' - they don't announce themselves with a trumpet blast to mark their arrival and make it memorable; they just sort of sneak up on us when we're not looking.  One decade segues into another with seemingly seamless ease - the 1st of January 1970 isn't really any different to the 31st of December 1969, but when we look back years later, using the accoutrements of our life as markers to distinguish one period from another, there often seems to be a dividing line between them.

One comic might represent the 1960s to us and another the '70s, but may've been bought only a few days apart.  In our memories though, they somehow become 'ring-fenced' in their own respective segments, separate and distinct, and each occupying their individual place in our recollections.  However, having just said that and in seeming contradiction, although in retrospect I mentally file these comic under the '70s ('cos I know that's when I bought them), due to that period of my life being pretty much the same as the one which preceded it, they also tend to encapsulate my entire span in the house in which I'd lived from 1965, not just one particular part of it.

A paradox I know, and one that perhaps doesn't make much sense, but that's just how it is.  I suppose time is like an onion, in that it seems like a single object, but on closer inspection we then become aware of the numerous layers of which it's comprised.  Except, perhaps, it's the reverse in the case of my above screed.  Now, if anyone can actually understand what I've just been rabbiting on about, perhaps you can explain it to me?

However, enough of such philosophical perplexions for the nonce and on to the covers, as I unleash upon you the stuff of which memories are made.  Any personal reminiscences associated with these comics that you'd care to share will be most welcome!  (So get typing!)

Batman's right leg is seriously stunted on this cover.  One step and he'd surely topple over?  And
how can Superboy be in the same place as his adult self?  Oh, that's right - it's symbolic - but even
he looks surprised

First one to say that the above scene looks like four gay guys in a gym can leave the room - we
don't want that sort of innuendo around here.  (Oo-er, it was me, wasn't it?  I'll get my coat!)

Ah, now that's a better idea - use art from the actual story itself.  What an improvement.
I bought my original copy of this comic in the Old Village quarter of my town

I'd missed this issue when it first came out, but acquired it from a pal some months later, when
he brought out a pile of comics to read on his front doorstep while I was visiting.  (That's right -
I wasn't invited inside)

This mis-coloured ad was on the back cover of all 14 issues

The one-off Bumper Book...

...and its enclosed leaflet advertising similar editions

 

Below, with a Batman who's clearly been eating too many pies (and should really be called Fatman), is the cover of a collected edition of several issues of the mag, doubtless in an attempt to shift surplus copies lying around the stockroom.

 

SUPER DC TEXT STORIES - PART THREE...

Copyright relevant owner

D'you know, I'm not at all sure that I read any of these text stories when I first bought SUPER DC back in the early '70s.  I'd have to re-read them to see if they ring any bells in my memory, but nothing comes to mind when I glance at them today.  I recall reading the stories in the Annual, but not the ones in the monthly comic, so I'll have to sit down one day and work my way through them.

If I'm not mistaken, these stories were reprinted from TV TORNADO, a weekly comic from a couple or so years before, but the original versions covered three pages whereas the re-presentations were only allocated two.  Whether this was achieved by omitting some pictures or abridging the text, I'm not sure;  it could simply have been a case of using a smaller typeface, but my copies of TV Tornado aren't on hand for me to compare.

Anyway, here are six stories from #s 7-9 to keep you occupied for a while.  The remaining tales will be along in the not too-distant future.  That should give you all something to look forward to, hopefully.  (Assuming you want to see more.) 

  

COME IN NUMBER FOURTEEN - YOUR TIME IS UP! (OR: DC? SIMPLY SUPER!)

Image copyright DC COMICS

Oh, am I a happy chappie!  A mere 15 minutes ago as I type this, I took possession of a full set of all 14 issues of SUPER DC (a sort of DC superheroes version of FANTASTIC, which reprinted MARVEL strips) that came out back in the 1970s.  I well-recall buying the first issue in a shop called CORSON'S, and pausing to pore through its pages in the open-but-covered bicycle area of the local community hall less than a minute from (and in view of) my house - I just couldn't wait!

Going by the copyright date inside and the shilling price on the cover, the comic seems to have been produced and published in 1969, but it didn't go on sale in my area until towards the end of 1970.  Perhaps the publisher, TOP SELLERS, tried it out in England first before selling it in Scotland, because there's a slight difference in size and indicia typeface between the two #1s I have, suggesting one's a reprint.  I'll have to compare them to the third #1 I received today.

A goodly number of years ago, I bought the first 13 issues from (I think) the late ROGER WILSON of WONDERLAND TOYS (he sold various other stuff as well), but #14 proved elusive.  Amiable ANDREW KERR sent me scans from his own then-recently acquired copy some months back, which I was going to use to make a facsimile, but I never had time to get around to it.  Then, at the beginning of this week, I saw the complete set for sale on eBay as a bundle, so, in order to get that final ish, I bought the lot.

I'll still be looking for another issue #14 so that I can complete my first run (I don't mind having two sets), so if anyone has one they want to sell or swap, get in touch.  I have a few spare early issues that I'd be only too happy to exchange for that one number, if anyone's interested.  Any takers?  Incidentally, I did have the comic back when it first came out, so it's a bit of a mystery as to why it's so difficult to find nowadays.  Perhaps the print-run on that ish was minuscule? 

And in case there are one or two of you who didn't already know, MARVELMAN 'creator', the late MICK ANGLO, was the comic's editor and drew some of the covers and internal illustrations.  Collector, historian and cartoonist, the late DENIS GIFFORD, also had some cartoon strips in the monthly mag from time to time.

And now I've got all 14 of them - lucky me!

******

Update: I've now got that other #14 I needed.

SENOR BUM? SENOR WILLIE? (TWO INFAMOUS SPANISH FLASHERS!) - NO! SENOR SANTA CLAUS...

As the 12 days of Christmas approach their end, let's have one last Seasonal song from JIM REEVES.  This one's a little faster-paced than usual and is just a wee bit mental, but it's fun all the same.  (There's no use hiding, McSCOTTY - we all know you're a closet Jim Reeves fan!)

BABE Of The DAY - LUCKY BLONDE HEATHER...

It's seriously sexy HEATHER

THOMAS to warm us all up on this

cold winter's night.  And it's working -

I can unplug my electric blanket now,

 'cos I don't need it anymore. 

"DO YOU TAKE PLASTIC, MAN?" FAVOURITE COMICS Of The PAST - PART THIRTY-TWO... (Updated)

Images copyright DC COMICS

Funny how we sometimes like to 'repeat' the past, eh?  I first bought the above comic around 1973 (though it was issued in '71) from my local R.S. McCOLL'S in the main shopping centre of my home town.  The memories that resurface just typing that sentence almost overwhelm me; memories of shops that no longer have a presence in that centre - or anywhere at all in some cases.

Well-known shops such as WOOLWORTH'S, SAFEWAY, The CO-OP, GALBRAITH'S, TEMPLETON'S, KRAZY CUTS, TIMOTHY WHITE'S, HENDERSON'S, FINE FARE, and W. & R. HOLMES, have turned off their lights and pulled down the shutters one by one.  Others, like HALFORDS, have upped-sticks and relocated to out-of-town retail parks where rents and rates are less expensive.

Sorry, I got distracted there - we're not here to talk about extinct shops, but DC SPECIAL #15, featuring JACK COLE's PLASTIC MAN.  I had such a soft spot in my memory for this mag that, when the 'lost' 80 Page Giant PLASTIC MAN Annual was issued in 2003/'04, I bought it immediately just because it reminded me of the yellow covered mag from the '70s that I'd once owned.  That's what I meant about repeating the past.

One of the things I thought I'd first read in this comic was that Jack Cole drew his pages printed size (at least for the origin tale) - not twice up as was the custom of the time.  However, search as I might, I can find no mention of that fact anywhere in my recent replacement issue, but I definitely read it somewhere way back in the 1970s.*  (Interestingly, LEO BAXENDALE fell out with The BEANO editor for doing something similar to meet a deadline once, refusing to redraw the page when the editor insisted on it, so obviously the same allowances weren't made for him as Jack Cole.)

Anyway, enjoy the selection of images from this mag from over 40 years ago.  Time doesn't just fly, it also stretches  - at least, it does when you've got your very own time machine in the form of a classic comicbook from your youth!

******

*Update 2nd April '24: Today I obtained back issues of #s 12 & 13, and in the latter number on the letters page (Plastic Postcards) an editorial response to a comment by one Scott Gibson says the following:

Here's a trivia tidbit to increase your appreciation of Cole -- he did all the PLASTIC MAN art the same size, on 6" by 9" art boards, while his fellow artists of the forties worked on 14" by 22" originals that allowed them twice as much room to work in!  Today's artists strike a happy medium, mostly working on 10" by 15" originals.

So, although these two issues don't immediately ring memory's bell (haven't read them yet), I obviously must've had them back in the day as #13 is clearly the source of that piece of info about what size artboards Cole used.

  

LET'S HAVE A GIGGLE...

Okay, I admit it, I'm just showing off!  Above are five bound file volumes, four of which used to belong to ODHAMS, and the fifth one to FLEETWAY.  They were given to me by an IPC editor who I assume just wanted the space in his office, and knowing what a fan I was of the POWER COMICS, he offered them to me.  I greedily accepted and they've now been in my possession for around 25 years or so. 

Curiously, Odhams didn't include all 52 issues for the year in their books, only 50 issues from January to December.  Had they bound all 52 issues, the WHAM! volume would've had the final two comics (#s 186 & 187), but the book ends with #185.  The POW! volume has #s 1-50, the SMASH! pair contain the first 100 issues, and GIGGLE contains the complete set.  (They're not numbered past the first two and I can't be bothered counting them.  If only my DENIS GIFFORD comics catalogue were handy.)

I remember buying a copy of Giggle back in the very early 1970s ('71 perhaps) from a charity shop in my neighbourhood shopping precinct and not being overly impressed by it, though the HERLOCK SHOLMES strip lodged in my memory.  I don't recall ever having seen the comic anywhere before that.  One day, I'll pore through the bound volume and see if I can identify which one it was, but I'd be surprised if I remember.

Anyway, not a bad little set of volumes to have on one's bookshelf, eh?

SCHOOLTIME SCANDALS - PART EIGHT: "ANNEXED ALGEBRA"...

Annexed huts in 1984, shortly before removal.  The hut in question
 was next in line to the left, but was gone by the time I took the photo 

Algebra was never my strong point.  I wasn't helped by the fact that I seemed immutably incapable of applying myself to subjects in which I had no interest and, to me, algebra was far too abstract a concept, the academic absorption of which contained no obvious benefits that I could discern.  Therefore, mastering the intricacies of a slide-rule lay beyond the meagre limits of my interest or abilities.  I say "subjects in which I had no interest", but that's simply because they failed to interest me - the fault was therefore surely theirs (or the teachers who failed to imbue them with that particular quality), not mine.

It wasn't that I refused to apply myself in such matters, it was simply that I couldn't.  Whenever I attempted to turn on the metaphorical tap from which intellectual waters should abundantly flow, no such waters were forthcoming - only faint creaks, feeble groans and dry, dusty puffs stirred in the internal water-pumps of my mind.  Alas, I was a hopeless case; except when it came to subjects that were accompanied by a built-in set of jump-leads to kick-start my interest (or teachers who made them interesting) - and algebra just wasn't one of them.

One day, in maths class, we were tasked with working out an algebraic equation.  I might as well have been given cuneiform tablets and asked to translate them, such was the impossibility of the enterprise set before me.  A blind and deaf five-year-old infant with an IQ of minus 300 would've had a far better chance of performing keyhole brain surgery than I had of even comprehending what was being asked of me, far less accomplishing it.  The teacher passed my desk a few times in his perambulations around the room, and then, seeing my difficulty (but with no offer of assistance), made it clear to me that if I hadn't worked it out by lesson's end, I'd be in trouble.

The space where the huts had been was left bare for many years, before, eventually,
a different design of annexed 'huts' took their place, but running 'longways' instead
of 'sideways'

I was in trouble!  The switch in my brain endured a thousand flickings, but no welcome beam of light cast its illumination over the darkness of my incomprehension.  I tried staring at the problem on the blackboard in the earnest hope that sudden inspiration might strike, but it was useless.  You can't make a snowman without snow, and though, when it came to algebra, my poor brain was as cold as ice, there was just no snow to be found.  When the bell rang at the end of the period, the teacher, seeing that I hadn't completed the complex calculations, dismissed the rest of the class and then ordered me to raise my hands so that he could belt them.

I refused, of course.  To be punished for not doing what I was incapable of doing seemed immensely unfair to me, and I said so.  Not to be thwarted, the teacher took me over to the headmaster's office (Dr. COOK, as cold and as severe a man - despite his claim of Christian convictions - as any celluloid Nazi officer you've ever seen), who promptly ordered me to comply with the teacher's demands.  I was trotted back to the classroom in the annexed huts at the back of the school, where, in the cloakroom, five or six over-enthusiastic whacks of the tawse were administered upon my upturned palms.  I can only assume that he was a cricket fan, such was the run-up he took for each stroke.  Perhaps this was the part of his job that he enjoyed most; in retrospect, a disproportionate number of these teachers seemed to be sadists.

I've related in a previous post the magnificent and unbowed manner in which I endured such punishment; I looked the teacher straight in the eye and didn't flinch.  Not for me the dropping down or drawing back of my arms in a sad attempt to lessen the blows.  My palms remained upraised through each stroke; and though, no doubt, my face (and hands) would've reddened slightly with the pain, unlike other pupils, by sheer effort of will I refused to be reduced to a snivelling, whimpering wreck.  I'm not too modest to reveal that I yet enjoy a sense of achievement at the way in which I thwarted such attempts to humble and humiliate me.

I only noticed the existence of these constructions in the last few
years of the school's life.  The photos were taken around 2007, not
long before complete demolition of everything within school grounds

Anyway, it's no exaggeration to say teach was simply stunned by the staunch manner in which I had withstood his assault.  (And, nowadays, that's just how it would be regarded.)  Strange as it may sound, he seemed impressed, and suddenly adopted a friendly, ingratiating manner. Putting his arm 'round my shoulder, he walked me over to the door, saying: "Gordon, I only did that with great reluctance and for your own good.  I get no pleasure from it, but I know you've got it in you to do far better in this subject than you do.  I'm only trying to encourage you to achieve your full potential."  Okay, that's unlikely to be a verbatim account of his words (it's been over 40 years, after all), but be assured it's pretty much the gist of it.

I no longer recall his name or I would readily identify him for your righteous condemnation.  He was of a slightly weathered appearance, with steely eyes, a determined jawline and wiry hair.  I can still see him in my mind's eye, and I've a feeling that he resembled an actor, who, if I could only remember which one, I'd include a picture to give you all a clearer idea of what he looked like.  In fact, on reflection, he was roughly in the same mould as a middle-aged SPENCER TRACY, but with hair of a darker hue (with hints of grey).  I'm not saying they were twins, mind, only that they were similar.  Couldn't say whether ol' Spence likewise enjoyed inflicting pain on adolescent schoolboys, but I'd consider it unlikely.

So there you have it!  Yet another Schooltime Scandal from the dim and distant days of my journey through the hallowed halls of Academia.  Have you had enough?  Then say "We submit!" and hand over all your tuck-shop and dinner-money!