ASTERIX The GAUL COVER GALLERY... (Updated)

Copyright relevant owner

It was 1975 or '76 - I was 16 or 17 years old and working in the warehouse of my local BOOTS The CHEMIST.  On my day off one Saturday, having been paid my hard-earned wages the day before, I treated myself to some ASTERIX The GAUL softcover books, which have been in my possession ever since.  I've long meant to upgrade to hardback, but, somehow (aside from an Omnibus or three), have never quite gotten around to it.

I'd decided to purchase them because I remembered looking through a French edition in my school library one lazy, hazy, summer afternoon in 1973 or '74, which already seemed like the dim and distant past to me by the time I came to be a working lad with a bit of spare cash to spend.  I recall being much impressed by the artwork, so I suppose it was inevitable that I would eventually buy copies for myself when I spotted them in my local branch of JOHN MENZIES while browsing in their book department one day.  (Though I have a nagging suspicion I may have bought some in Boots itself.)

In the mid-'80s, when I was commuting to London every week during my freelancing days at IPC, I was given some file-copies of RANGER magazine (which I still have) by one of the editors, and was surprised to see that it had reprinted some of the Asterix strips in 1965 under a different title: BRITONS NEVER, NEVER, NEVER SHALL BE SLAVES.  The setting was changed from Gaul to Britain and Asterix was renamed BERIC The BOLD, and OBELIX became DORIC, the son of BOADICEA.  Their shield-riding leader, CHIEF VITALSTATISTIX, was called CHIEF TUNNABRIX, which I happen to think is actually a far better name.

I was equally surprised to later learn that, just over a year earlier ('63), popular boys comic VALIANT had reprinted the first Asterix adventure under the title of LITTLE FRED - The ANCIENT BRIT With LOADS Of GRIT.  It would be 1969 before Asterix landed on these shores speaking English under his own name, and his full-colour books have enjoyed immense popularity ever since.  If memory hasn't failed me, I bought nine albums on that afternoon back in 1976, got another one not too long after, and acquired six more over the next three years or so, completing the first 16 in the series.

As everybody and their brother will doubtless already know, Asterix the Gaul was created by RENE GOSCINNY and ALBERT UDERZO and first appeared in the French magazine PILOTE in 1959.  The art is simply superb and I can think of a few cartoonists working in British comics today who'd be well-served by following Uderzo's example of how it should be done.  The English versions were translated by ANTHEA BELL and DEREK HOCKRIDGE, and later, I think, by Anthea herself, though I've no idea who currently performs the task.

Here then, in honour of the gallus little Gaul, is a cover gallery of those 16 softcover books in my collection.  I've probably got a few other tales in my hardback Omnibus volumes, but one day I really must get around to obtaining the full set.  If you don't have any Asterix books of your own, run out and buy some today!

Update: In 2004, the books were revised, being relettered and recoloured (or perhaps just using plates with the original French colouring), and the results are (mostly) a vast improvement when compared to the previous English-language editions.  Uderzo also redrew the two introductory pages, and at some stage he produced a new cover, though I'm uncertain whether this was for the revised edition of 2004 or was done later.  The new cover is shown below, first by itself and then alongside the original to better facilitate direct comparison.

Incidentally, the new UK edition featured the redrawn rendition of page 35, produced by MARCEL UDERZO (Albert's brother) in 1970 when the original plate was lost, whereas previous UK volumes had used a blurry image of the original page sourced from an earlier French printing featuring Albert's version.

BUDDY, CAN YOU SPARE A DIME? (Updated)

For the background to this post, click here.

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Over on William Peace's blog, someone has left a snide comment, saying "Kid Robson is a troll.  Ignore."  Think about that for a moment.  Surely the definition of a 'troll' is someone (usually anonymous) who leaves childish, inane remarks that aren't pertinent to the matter under discussion, for the purpose of insulting another person or sowing discord?  I wonder if the commenter is aware of the irony of his actions, but I doubt it.  It seems that some people think the Internet was invented solely for those in perfect agreement on everything to communicate with one another, and therefore object to any form of lively discussion on the part of others.  

Mr. Peace says that, due to the response my remarks have generated, the thread has now deteriorated and he will delete all future comments from everyone.  He could simply delete those he regards as "empty rhetoric", but it appears to be mainly the comments for which he has no answer and wishes to evade that are the true targets of his ire.  I was unaware when I initially replied to the post that it was three years old, but a number of folks disagree with Mr. Peace's viewpoint in no uncertain terms - a few are quite insulting, in fact.  My comment, on the other hand, is perfectly polite and (more importantly) pertinent - it's only 'fault' being that it disagrees with Mr. Peace'e fundamentally flawed view that anything he regards as showing disabled people in what he sees as a negative light serves only to reinforce a stereotype of them.

But Mr. Peace is, I believe, mistaken - it doesn't!  Let us now, for the purpose of discussion, consider his proposition that the blind beggar comes across as a bit of thicko in the ad.  So what?  Disability is no respecter of persons, afflicting people from every walk of life regardless of age, gender, status or intellect.  Is Mr. Peace saying that there are no physically disabled people who are far from the sharpest tool in the box?  When I watch the video, I do not come away from it thinking that all (or even any) blind beggars are 'useless' and 'thick' (and I sincerely doubt that any fair-minded, rational person without an axe to grind does either), only that, for the purpose of the ad, a beggar of average intelligence was required.  (I did wonder why the woman was wearing sunglasses on a dull, rainy day though.)

Another thing - it wasn't just the beggar who failed to see the potential benefit in rewording his sign; the other passers-by were equally as unimaginative - as was everybody who watched the ad.  It can't be claimed that the man was portrayed as being stupid without levelling the exact same charge at everyone else (bar one), as well as the entire viewing audience.  However, if an able-bodied person were to suggest that it made 'people' look stupid, you'd think that he'd had too much vinegar on his chips and was over-reacting.

Consider this: Ads usually portray situations in a way best-suited to serve whatever idea or product the advertiser is trying to promote.  Shortcuts are usually taken, hence the woman not seeking permission to change the beggar's sign, nor him asking what she's doing as she writes it.  Or, indeed, asking consent to touch the woman's shoes, as a fellow 'activist' complains on the site that Mr. Peace links to in support of his views.  (Saying that other people think the same as him is hardly the clincher he seems to think it is.)

A lot of disabled people are largely self-sufficient in their day-to-day lives, but, equally, many aren't, relying on family, friends and paid carers for assistance in order to make their lives easier or, in some cases, even bearable.  (Depends on the disability, obviously.)  Mr. Peace's problem seems to stem from his resentment of the notion that not all disabled people are as capable as their more able-bodied counterparts.  Well, Mr. Peace, it's a sad fact that not all of them are.  The clue is in the name - 'disabled'.

Yet another case of political correctness gone mad, I'm bound to say.  Should disabled people only ever be portrayed as intellectual giants whose physical disabilities are mere minor inconveniences, and who are far better and more capable human beings than those who haven't been 'blessed' with some form of physical impairment?  (In just the same way that homosexual couples who adopt, always seem to be shown as loving, caring parents to a degree that heterosexual parents can only dream of.)

That way lies madness.  If disabled activists are genuine in their claim that all they want is to be treated in the same way as the able-bodied, then they should be prepared to put up with advertisers treating them in the same manner as they do everyone else - as people to be exploited.  That's true equality.  Welcome to the real world, Mr. Peace!

Sadly, in this instance, Mr. Peace comes across as just another guy with a giant chip on his shoulder who wants to bully the rest of society into seeing and doing things his way.  Perish forbid that any able-bodied person should ever be portrayed as being smarter than a disabled one, or shown assisting or bestowing an act of assistance on anyone less fortunate.  That would never do.

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Agree, disagree, couldn't care less?  Or would you prefer a punch-up at the back of the pub?  Feel free to have your say in the comments section - or not, as the case may be.

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As someone seems to be exploiting this topic to 'settle old scores' over in the comments section of Mr. Peace's post on this subject, let me just make it clear that I hold no personal animosity towards him.  It is only on this one matter that I feel he is not only mistaken, but damages his own credibility in his response to an ad which I (and many others, some of whom are disabled themselves) feel he has over-reacted to.  Also, in 'shifting the goalposts' for his reason for objecting to the ad and removing my follow-up comment pointing this out, I feel that he has been less than honest.

As, I'm saddened to say, he has also been in saying that he would publish no further comments from anyone on the matter and then allowing a number of 'anonymous' attacks on me by one or two people without the guts to identify themselves (or reply to my post) who have sought to exploit the occasion for reasons of their own.  It's strange that none of the more vociferous replies to Mr. Peace's post have attracted the same kind of hostile attention as my own far more mild and moderate one.  Strange indeed.

Says it all really.

JUST OUT OF REACH...

Tense, nervous, headache?  Tired and worn out from the cares of the day?  Then what you need is a mental massage to soothe and relax you, and nothing does that better than the velvet-voiced musical marvel that was - that is - JIM REEVES!

So, plug in your headphones, click the above link, then sit back and feel all your worries melt away.

GOOD OR BAD? YOU DECIDE...

MARK EVANIER, one-time assistant to the legendary JACK KIRBY, recently embedded a video (on his mostly excellent blog) which has turned out to be quite controversial.  No fault of Mr. Evanier it has to be said, but a disabled person who calls himself BAD CRIPPLE has taken against it.  The video is an ad by a company called PURPLE FEATHER, and Bad Cripple (I don't even like typing the name, so let's call him by the other one he uses, WILLIAM PEACE) claims that it shows disabled people (in this case, a blind man, or perhaps an actor playing blind) in a negative light.  Watch the video and see what you think.

(Incidentally, the ad was filmed at the back steps of the premises which once housed BORDERS, behind The Gallery of Modern Art in Glasgow, for those of you who may be interested in such things.)

I left a comment on the man's site (as did numerous others), politely stating that he was perhaps over-reacting, and asking him if he would've had a problem if the beggar hadn't been blind, but merely homeless, and the woman had changed his sign to 'It's a beautiful day, but it'll be a cold night on the street'.  (You'll understand what I'm alluding to if you watch the ad.)  Mr. Peace then changed tack, and said that he was offended by anyone having to beg, "disabled or not".  I politely pointed out that this was a different argument, as his original stated objection had been to the depiction (in his view) of disabled people in a stereotypical, negative way, not people ("disabled or not") who had (or chose) to beg.

I also observed that perhaps the man was begging not because he was blind, but for some other reason(s), and that maybe his blindness was unconnected to his current situation.  Sure, his sign said "I'm blind - please help", but this could merely be due to matters of expediency.  After all, "I'm an alcoholic junkie- please help"  (or whatever) is hardly likely to produce the desired result.  Mr. Peace decided  not to respond to my points (which he's perfectly entitled to do - it's his blog after all), but he deleted my second comment, which, I feel, demonstrates his inability to deal with what I feel were pertinent points contained therein.

However, it raises an interesting question.  Whenever disaster strikes anywhere on the planet, should aid agencies and charities refrain from showing us the effects it has on people's lives for fear of portraying them in a disadvantaged way, in need of assistance from the global community?  And the same goes in the case of disabled people.  Surely the best way to solicit help - when it is needed - is to show (within reason) the ugly realities that  people in such situations have to deal with.

While it's true that the ad is designed to draw attentiom to the company that produced it rather than the plight of disadvantaged or disabled people, it is surely treating them in exactly the same manner as it treats the able-bodied (as players in a story) - which is surely the aim of every disabled person everywhere?  That is, to be treated exactly the same as everybody else.  So, what's Mr. Peace's problem?

(It's interesting, though, that it's not the beggar who wears the shades, but the 'insightful' woman who rewrites his sign.  Was it intended as some kind of irony perhaps?  At least they avoided the stereotype of non-sighted people always wearing dark glasses.) 

Do you think the ad is a good or a bad thing?  Take a look, and then say what you think in the comments section.

WHAT'S IN A BOOK?

Illustrated by ERNEST H. SHEPARD

You're looking at a book I bought back around 1977 or so.  "Big deal!" a few of you may be thinking, but I've posted it here because it reminds me of so many different moments in my life.  Of course, I've wittered on before about the associations that items can conjure up, but if I didn't return to a topic from time to time, I'd have little to write about - and then some of you might be placed in the unfortunate position of having to find something a lot more worthwhile to do with your time than read this humble blog of mine.

I first saw this version of one of the all-time classics of literature in a magazine ad while awaiting my turn in a barber's shop one afternoon, circa 1976 or '77.  (Actually, it was a ladies hairdressing salon by the name of MARINA, which accommodated a traditional gents barber in a partitioned section at the back of the shop.)  Several weeks later, I ordered a copy from a great place called MODATOYS in the local shopping precinct of one of my old neighbourhoods, and patiently waited to be informed of its arrival.

About a month or so later, myself and a friend decided to visit our old primary schools.  He had gone to one just around the corner from where I lived, and I had gone to another one not too far away from it when I had resided in a different part of the area quite a number of years previously.  After visiting those two schools and being given guided tours around them by their respective secretaries, we then called in upon the school we had both attended while living in another neighbourhood, the same one in which was located the toy (and book) shop referred to in the previous paragraph.

I should perhaps mention that we were only around 17 or 18, and schools were much more welcoming to former pupils - and far less security-conscious - than they are nowadays.  To once again walk the corridors and view the classrooms of our childhood was a magical thing, even though it had only been about six or seven years since we'd left.  Of course, at that time, those years were almost a third of our lives away, so, proportionately, it seemed like a much longer period than it would seem to me today.  (These days, six or seven years appear to be roughly equivalent to a fortnight back then.)

Anyway, being in the neighbourhood, we dropped in to the shop to enquire about my book.  Imagine my surprise to discover that they had 'phoned my house a couple of weeks earlier to let me know that the book was now in stock.  I had been out, but they had left a message with my father to pass on to me, which he hadn't.  Thanks, dad!  I didn't have enough on me, but I returned to the shop a few days later and paid for my new acquisition.

(Funnily enough, a few years later, another friend of mine relocated to England, and would 'phone me from work from time to time.  If I wasn't in, he would ask my father to let me know he had called, which he never did.  A case of parents regarding the affairs of their offspring as being too insignificant to worry about, much less remember, I guess, but it was annoying.  I only found out about them when my friend mentioned it in a 'cassette-a-letter' some time later.)

Anyway, back to the book.  Sometime back around 1985 or '86, having moved to yet another house, I bought a second copy of the same edition from a book club, and placed it alongside its predecessor on my shelf.  The later edition was slightly slimmer (thinner pages), and had an orange cloth cover as opposed to red, but I got it in an introductory offer for about 50 pence (or less) so it was a welcome addition/spare to my collection.

So, whenever, I look at this particular edition of The WIND In The WILLOWS, there are many different things I associate with it: The barber shop (which only recently relocated, but the separate section for gents was phased out long ago), the toy and book shop (now long-gone, alas, but it was there a good number of years and is sadly missed), the three primary schools of me and my friend (the one we both attended currently being demolished, the previous two not long fallen to the same fate), the two houses in which I lived when I obtained each copy of that particular edition - and last, but  not least, my long-vanished youth, when I was young, strong and fit, with more years ahead of me than behind me - no longer the case, alas.

It also reminds me of my father's annoying inability to ever pass on a message.  All that history - and so much more besides - contained within the pages of one book.  Amazing when you think about it, eh?  If there are any particular books which conjure up distinct recollections of your own past, please feel free to share them with the rest of us in the comments section.

SPIDER-MAN 'REMASTERED'...

Images copyright MARVEL COMICS

I'm sure you all know about the HACHETTE PARTWORKS series of MARVEL books by now, but I thought I'd remind you that Part 2, which is currently on sale, contains a recoloured presentation of AMAZING FANTASY #15 - SPIDER-MAN's first appearance.   This version was originally available in 2012 as part of Spidey's 50th anniversary, and makes for an interesting comparison to the original 1962 issue, colour-wise.

I think the new colouring job gives the art an extra depth and has been very well-done, although I have some reservations about the choice of colours used.  (I'd prefer to see something closer to the original colour palette, but with the modern, almost 3D look.)

Unfortunately, the book perpetuates the official myth about AF #15, long since debunked by the actual facts of the case (see here), but, that apart, it's well-worth £6.99.  (Regular price from Part 3 will be £9.99.)  Part 1 also contains an error, in that it lists IRON MAN's first appearance as TALES Of SUSPENSE #29, as opposed to #39.  Probably just a typo though, as a thumbnail of the issue's cover was included.

So, what are you waiting for?  ON SALE NOW!

TINPOTS, TYRANTS, And TITS!

Once again, I find myself placed in the position of having to address a controversial topic which some of you may not be interested in.  If so, please feel free to ignore this post and wait for another, hopefully more compelling one.

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You may recall me telling you a while back about a certain DEREK G. MARSDEN who frequents the comics forum of which I was once briefly a member.  An arrogant, opinionated, impertinent and self-important little man who exploits any opportunity for self-aggrandizement, he's been at his disingenuous best once more on that very forum - one which he seems to regard as some kind of 'school playground' in which he's the head prefect.

The term 'self-aggrandizement' is extremely apropos in his case, but it's not one whose application I can take credit for; no, the honour for that astute observation belongs more properly to a new forum member who goes by the name of HARD TRUTHS.  As I once explained, I resigned from the forum because I couldn't comment or express an opinion without certain parties seeing it as an opportunity to attack me.  Chief amongst them was Mr. Marsden, who has a history of patronising pomposity and overbearing odiousness in his dealings with other members.

Indeed, not long after joining the forum and encountering Mr. Marsden's snooty swaggering for the first time, I received a private email from another member advising me to ignore the pompous buffoon (my words, nor theirs) as other forum members were equally sick of him.  No doubt infuriated at having taken second prize in a few of our encounters (and never a first prize in any of them), he seemed determined to target me at the slightest excuse, in order to provoke me into saying something that might bring disapproval upon my head from the moderators.

As said moderators allowed him to get away with making the most outrageous, provocative and libellous accusations with impunity, it seemed obvious where their bias lay, so rather than waste my time and energies on a forum where it was clear that some people didn't want me (and who had objected to my membership from the start, on account of my frank and forthright views - on this blog - on the state of various aspects of British comics and some of their contributors), I resigned.  I explained my reasons for leaving in a way that allowed no possible misinterpretation.

However, that hasn't stopped the bold Mr. Marsden from doing his utmost to reinterpret them in order to rewrite history on the forum, in a pathetic attempt to claw back his imagined status as 'top dog' on the site.  Read what he said in response to the following comment from Hard Truths, who I can honestly state is not an alias of mine, nor, so far as I'm aware, anyone known to me.  (So his or her remarks are not the result of any prompting or urging by me.)  If it should prove to be someone I know, they haven't seen fit to inform me of such.

'I've noticed that there's been a huge slump in activity since Kid Robson left.  Sure, he was the forum's most controversial member ever, and arguments always started with him around, but at least something was actually happening.  Now?  Nothing.  This really gives a new meaning to "Be careful what you always wish for." '

Mr. Marsden, who goes by the appellation of PHOENIX, felt obliged to respond, seemingly outraged by the suggestion that anyone could conceivably consider my presence on the forum as having any positive value.

'We have got what we wished for.  Furthermore, we don't want any members reminding us of the unpleasant experiences we had to undergo during Robson's few months with us.  Yes, he was controversial, and obnoxious with it, but that was mainly due to his refusal to accept that his view or opinion could ever be wrong, and that other members could actually be right.  He eventually realised that we were not going to allow him to ride roughshod over us so he resigned, and popped off back to his blog where he can indulge his aggression, his egocentricity, his paranoia and his dismissive approach to others, and share them with his adoring acolytes over there to his heart's content.

Incidentally, I notice that you have started your membership in a similar manner to him, introducing a couple of anodyne threads, criticising the Forum before you have even got your feet under the table, and posting a sarcastic comment on the end of the Are Weekly Comics Doomed? thread, which was started by Robson, and in which there is evidence of all the character traits I mentioned earlier.  He was a troll.  Your choice of username is interesting.  I am looking forward to your next post.'

In response to this earlier remark by Hard Truths - 'Ah, wanting to start a flamewar, eh?  So, exactly what you criticized Kid Robson for doing.  I love the smell of hypocrisy.' - the self-styled Phoenix had this to say:

'How amazingly recognisable your modus operandi is.  It's almost as if Robson has taught you what to say, and then sent you over here to say it.  When you get back to Crivvens (sic), or wherever else you came from, could you please pass on the message that trolls are not welcome on comicsuk, and that we do now find them easy to spot.'

So, let's take his fantasies one at a time, shall we? 

1)  'Yes, he was controversial, and obnoxious with it, but that was mainly due to his refusal to accept that his view or opinion could ever be wrong, and that other members could actually be right.'

What seems to annoy this particular individual is that whenever I was defending a carefully considered opinion in the face of opposing (and hostile) reaction, I didn't allow myself to be browbeaten into submission by those who thought that if they kept aggressively chipping away at me, my defence would crumble.  It's called having an opinion and sticking to it - but only when the facts verify my conclusions.  From my perspective, it is the tediously pedantic Mr. Marsden who is not prepared to allow that anyone other than himself is correct on any given matter.

2)  'He eventually realised that we were not going to allow him to ride roughshod over us so he resigned, and popped off back to his blog where he can indulge his aggression, his egocentricity, his paranoia and his dismissive approach to others, and share them with his adoring acolytes over there to his heart's content.'

With complete disregard for the facts, this self-styled 'guru' invents a totally different reason for my stated 'resignation' from the forum - apparently thinking that he has greater insight into my motives than I do.  I think that any disinterested reader (and yes, I am aware of the difference between 'disinterested' and 'uninterested', Mr. M - I do mean 'disinterested') can see for themselves who the real egocentric is.  (Borne out by the fact that when I used the phrase 'Solus inter plurimos' - 'I am alone among many' - Mr. M proposed an alternative version which he applied to himself ) - 'Primus inter multos' - 'I am FIRST among many'.

3)  'How amazingly recognisable your modus operandi is.  It's almost as if Robson has taught you what to say, and then sent you over here to say it.  When you get back to Crivvens (sic), or wherever else you came from, could you please pass on the message that trolls are not welcome on comicsuk, and that we do now find them easy to spot.'

Note with what ease Mr. Marsden presumes to speak for the entire forum, as if he's a democratically elected spokesman on its behalf.  What's more amazing is that he is in clear violation of the forum's code of conduct in his increasingly bizarre rants, where he is openly insulting and indulges in the most ridiculous speculations and thinly-veiled insinuations (that Hard Truths is either an emissary of mine, or me myself)) without even a shred of evidence.  (What was that he was saying about paranoia?  Which begs the question - why on earth is he is he permitted to get away with it?  If anyone is a troll, it is surely him!

It's clear from his comments that his definition of the word 'troll' is anyone who refuses to be bullied into accepting his opinion as the final authority on any subject pertaining to just about everything.  (Which seems to be a common trait amongst those with similar delusions of omnipotence.)  Apparently, he used to be a teacher, and is no doubt so used to imposing his view on those too young to oppose him that he expects everyone to kowtow to him in the same subservient manner as the pupils he once looked down his nose at from the lofty heights (in his own mind at least) of his 'exalted position'.

Anyway, this thoroughly obnoxious little man with an overdeveloped sense of pedantry, who is so fond of correcting other people's use of the English language (especially in the girl's comics section of said forum, curiously), will surely not mind me pointing out to him that the name of this blog, 'Crivens', only has one 'v' in it.  Now, having punctured his pomposity and presumptuousness, we can only hope that this petty and pathetic individual slinks off back to the obscurity which so rightfully belongs to him.

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And to which, I'm glad to say, his provocative and misleading comments on the forum have now been consigned.

RAINBOW CONNECTIONS - (Updated)

"In the chocolate box of life, the top layer's already gone - and

someone's pinched the orange cream from the bottom."

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"There goes yesterday."

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Bob Ferris and Terry Collier, The Likely Lads (1976).

Well, it's finally happened.  The demolition team moved in yesterday and started to tear down my barely 50 year old primary school.  I reckon it'll only take a few days to complete the task and then yet another part of my past will be gone forever. Regular readers will recall me having alluded to the then-impending prospect a few times over the last couple of years, but now that the day is finally here, I find myself still not quite able to take it in.  Perhaps when the football pitches and flats which are earmarked for the site are eventually built, I'll get used to them - but I doubt it.  The area as it was is so ingrained in my consciousness that, whenever I go there in future, it'll be akin to visiting an alternate universe where most things are the same, but with glaring differences which are completely disorientating.

A friend who lives next to the school alerted me to proceedings, then came and collected me in his car so that I could record the event.  Whilst I was snapping away, a rainbow appeared (see photo), seemingly forming a Bifrost bridge between the old school building and the new one  - as if whatever spirits inhabiting the original were now moving to a new abode. I couldn't snap the other half of the rainbow over the new school because the pupils were all observing the demolition from the classroom and hall windows, and, due to the times in which we now live, a stranger pointing a camera in the direction of an occupied school runs a strong risk of being regarded with some suspicion.  I therefore contented myself with the object of my attention and affections - which was all I was really interested in anyway.  However, the connecting rainbow was a memorable moment - for me at least.

I can remember the day I first started my old school and the day I left as if they were both fairly recent events.  Yet somehow, paradoxically, both occasions seem like a hundred years ago at the same time.  Time, eh?  Just where the hell does it go to when we're not looking?  I notice a 'refresh' facility on my computer as I type this - if only our lives were similarly imbued with the same option, wouldn't things be grand?

Talking of rainbows reminds me of a play my class put on back in 1967 or '68.  I no longer recall if I was still in Room 7 or the one directly above (or maybe even the one above that - they were identical in every respect), but I still remember one of my lines of dialogue word for word:  "Such beautiful singing has touched my heart." (Seven words - that's some feat of memory, eh?)  The play was PETER PAN and I played the Red Indian Chief (I refuse to pander to the PC brigade and type 'native American') and fellow pupil BILLY MONTGOMERY was the nasty CAPTAIN HOOK.  Billy sang 'Never Smile at a Crocodile' and I always think of him whenever I see the cartoon today.  Alas, I can no longer recollect who sang 'Over the Rainbow' (ELIZABETH FLEMING perhaps), but for many years afterwards I assumed that the song was from the DISNEY film (which I only watched for the first time back in the late '80s or early '90s), until I saw The WIZARD Of OZ on TV one Christmas when I was in my late teens or early twenties.

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The above pics were taken on Thursday afternoon, but I trotted along to the school today (Saturday) to see how things were going and took some more.  I'm sure you're all as desperate to see them as I was to snap them, so without any further ado, here they are.

"The CASE Of The LETHAL LETTERS!" FAVOURITE COMICS Of The PAST - PART TWENTY-FOUR...

Images copyright DC COMICS

The way I remember it, I'd just arrived back home after a school trip to CULZEAN CASTLE and decided to trot along to CORSON'S to see what new comics they had.  I came back with the very issue above - SUPERMAN #204 - to add to my collection.  Of course, I could be inadvertently combining two completely separate occasions because of the similar impressions they left on me and the trip to Culzean Castle may have been on another day, but that's the way I seem to recall it and, as I'm writing this piece, I get the final say.

I believe this was the first time I'd seen ROSS ANDRU's art on Superman, although I didn't know his name or that it was he who'd drawn the strip until many years later, but I recall the pages with startling clarity as if I'd seen them only yesterday.  Perhaps my memory of them was reinforced when I saw the tale reprinted in SUPER DC two or three years later, and that helped embed the artwork in my consciousness, who knows?  The fact remains, however, that they're certainly Dynamically-Composed pages in contrast to what CURT SWAN was doing at the time.  (Whose finest hour was surely when he was paired with MURPHY ANDERSON a couple of years later.)

The issue contained a reprint entitled "The DUPLICATE SUPERMAN!" (a gimmick that was used a number of times in subsequent years - was this the first?), but see how it was labelled - "A DEMAND CLASSIC".  Surely a case of the editor 'demanding' its inclusion as a cost-cutting exercise, because I can't see too many readers (if any) writing in to demand specific stories they'd never seen before.  Or am I being too cynical?

Anyway, that's surely enough waffle from me - I'll leave you to get on with looking at the pretty pictures.  After all, that's what you're here for, isn't it?

KID KLASSICS - A TRUE ACCOUNT Of TIME TRAVEL...

When I, as an adult (allegedly) almost in my thirties, set foot over the threshold of one of my childhood homes for the first time since moving out 16 years before, the first thing that struck me was how much at home I still felt.  It was almost as if I'd just popped out to the shops across the road about ten minutes earlier and then come straight back again.

Perhaps this was in part due to how much of the 'familiar' yet remained.  The same paper on the living-room ceiling that we'd had put up; the same lowered hall ceiling that my father had fitted; the same bathroom tiles that we'd been responsible for; the same kitchen tiles (now painted) above the sink.  Some things had changed of course.  For a start, the sink was now stainless steel, and, in the living-room, the old-fashioned tiled fireplace and mantlepiece, like something out of The BROONS, had been replaced (or covered) by a relatively more modern-looking one, but the overwhelming 'sense' of the place as I had known it still hung heavy in the air.  Truly, it really was as if I'd gone back in time and the intervening years seemed almost like a dream.

Even the back garden was untouched - the same wood and wire fence, the same gate, the same rockery at the foot of the lawn - all just as it had always been.  To once again touch (and hear the sound of) the latch on the gate as I'd regularly done as a child on my way to school in the mornings was almost a spiritual experience for me.  The sensation of reconnecting with one's past in such a tangible way that it seems like the present is not an easy one to convey, but that's the only way I can describe it.  I had stepped back into the past, with the events of what had come after almost wiped from my memory as if they had simply never happened.

That feeling couldn't be sustained of course.  For the simple reason that, in the space of a month or so, the field across from the back of the house was dug up in preparation for amenity houses for the elderly being built.  Two years later, the old garden fence and gate had been 'sent off' and brash, young 'substitutes' had taken their place.  Another two years after that, the church across from the front of the house had been demolished and replaced by a new one.  At around the same time, the house's original windows and front door were removed and PVC ones installed.  Over the last 20 years, other changes have transpired; new street lamps, new pavement surfaces, new school built, and various other alterations - all of them resented by me.  Alas, time and tide wait for no man, as the old saying goes.

However, for a period of almost two decades, the old house and neighbourhood had stayed pretty much the same, allowing me the indulgence of believing, for however (relatively) brief a period, that time had stood still.  I'm glad I reconnected with that aspect of my past in its last dying moments, before it was too late and everything changed forever.  I suppose such experiences can never be anything other than bittersweet, in that they tease you with the glory of what once was - but, alas, cannot always be.

Other than in the mystic band of memory.