ROOBARB & CUSTARD...

Copyright ROOBARB Enterprises, Ltd

A great TV show I loved in the 1970s was ROOBARB & CUSTARD, narrated by RICHARD BRIERS.  The animation was shaky (deliberately so), the storylines were mental, and the theme tune was pure dead brilliant (as we say in Glasgow).  I was glad to see some comic strips based on the show in the TV COMIC Annual for 1977 (which I bought near the end of '76), so I thought you might like to see them too.

(TV Comic Annual 1977 - the gift that keeps on giving.)

FAMOUS FILM STAR FOUND IN A 'THREESOME'...

Copyright METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER, Inc

I don't know if BARNEY BEAR ever appeared in a comic strip in America, but he had his own page in the weekly TV COMIC here in Britain.  The strips featured in this post were drawn by BILL TITCOMBE, one of the finest cartoonists this country ever produced.

So, enjoy a 'threesome' of Barney Bear strips from TV Comic Annual for 1977 (issued in '76).  Go on, have a laugh on me.  (On, I said, not at, you rascals.)

(Note that the stories have an element of wit about them, usually lacking in today's offerings.  If they were still writing them like this, maybe more people would be buying what few British comics remain.)

RIP-ROARING REPOST: TV COMIC'S LAST STAND...

Copyright relevant owner

As related in a recent post, TV COMIC ceased weekly publication in June 1984 after an unbroken run of nearly thirty-four years.  However, it made three more last-gasp appearances before it finally vanished from U.K. newsagents.  First there was an Annual for 1985 (released near the end of '84), and then a 1985 Holiday Special.  This was followed a year later by a Holiday Extra, containing a mix of strips and activity pages.

It's not unheard of for Annuals to continue for years after a weekly comic's demise, KNOCKOUT being a prime example.  Knockout comic was published for only two years from 1971 to '73, but the Annual lasted from 1972 (for '73) to 1984 (for '85) - a total of thirteen books over twelve years.  (That's some going.)

Perhaps POLYSTYLE PUBLICATIONS hoped for the same thing with the TV Comic Annual (though it was probably prepared prior to the weekly being cancelled) - but, alas, 'twas not to be.  There was no Annual for the following year, or indeed, any year thereafter.

With the 1986 Special 'done and dusted', the once-popular TV Comic had finally fallen foul to an unfriendly fate in the face of a feckless following forsaking it for friendlier fields.

Such, as they say, is life.   

CALLING ALL COOL CRIV-ITES...

Hi, Criv-ite chums.  Can you do me a favour?  At the bottom of each post is a three-choice option of approval - funny, interesting and cool.  After perusing or commenting on any of my pulsating posts, could you register your reaction by clicking on one of the boxes?  It'd be much appreciated.  Ta.  (Update: Options now vanished - don't know why or to where.)

BABE Of The DAY - ABIGAIL RATCHFORD...

This pic of ABIGAIL RATCHFORD poses

an interesting question.  Namely, the water is only

three inches deep - so how does she manage to pose

in it?  Is she standing in a hole perhaps?  (Or am I

just talking my usual load of old cobblers?)

BOB BILLENS - CARD-CARRYING COMEDY CREATOR (IN HIS DREAMS)...

Here's another tale about 'Bob Billens', which ably illustrates how some people who think they know what they want don't actually have a Scooby about how things work.  The sheer level of stupidity involved is difficult to believe.  Here's what happened.

'Bob' had recently taken a comedy writing course and was confidently convinced he had the talent to earn some extra dosh by supplying humour sketches to radio and TV shows.  Amazingly, he did actually provide some material to a few shows, but never really managed to make much of a mark.  However, he decided to get a business card printed for this new enterprise and asked me if I'd provide an illustration for it.  (As a favour, obviously.)

Demonstrating an amazingly 'original' touch of 'creativity' (that's sarcasm by the way), he asked me to draw a 'cartoon' of a kilt-wearing Scotsman carrying a giant pen.  (I can't recall whether I originally drew him with a 'tam o' shanter' or added it later at Bob's request.)  I duly produced the cliched caricature and sent it off to him, only to receive a list of 'improvements' practically by return post.  (This was in the mid-1980s - the internet hadn't yet conquered the world.)

Make him taller, thinner, and older, with a longer face.  Give him hairy legs, a tattoo on his arm, and a bottle of whisky with a triple 'x' on the label.  Add garters to his socks, and change his boots to brogues - all of which I did in double-quick time.  Reinforcing the stereotype of the drunken Scottish bampot may have seemed like a stroke of comedy genius to Bob, but I didn't think it was particularly inventive - or funny.

Anyway, I eventually received one of his cards and I couldn't believe it.  (Call me Victor.)  In order to reduce the figure I'd drawn to a size the card would accommodate, he'd photocopied it many times over, making it smaller with each copy 'til it fitted.

Not only had most of the linework been wiped out with each successive copy, but the figure on the finished card was only a few millimeters high, rendering all the detail he'd requested redundant from the very start.  What a tube!  Talk about wanting the Book of Genesis on a postage stamp - this was seriously rippin' the p*ss.  What's worse was, he'd clumsily and ineptly tried to retouch the missing linework, making a total pig's ear of the whole thing in the process. 

But guess what?  He was actually quite pleased with the card, believing it was his 'input' which had resulted in something bound to impress everyone who saw it.  To me, the only impression it would've made was that the card-holder was deluded.  I subsequently used the figure on a leaflet for a restaurant, but not before I made a mental note to be 'busy' should Bob ever ask for my help on any future 'projects'.

I still shake my head in disbelief at the memory.  I'll add scans of the card and his 'instructions' when I remember where I put them, but in the meantime, the figure at the top of the post was copied from the original drawing some years ago.  (I omitted the whisky and pen as they were surplus to requirements.) 

BABE Of The DAY - IMOGEN HASSALL...

Lovely IMOGEN HASSALL stares

longingly at me from across the room, as

I prance about in my YOGI BEAR under-

pants.  I know how to dress to impress - as

does the sultry and enchanting Imogen,

 as you can clearly see.  Wotta gal!

RAMBLING REMINISCENCE: RED AND CRIMSON ARE NOT ALWAYS THE SAME...

Image copyright MARVEL COMICS

You may recall me mentioning 'Bob Billens' twice or thrice before on this blog. 'Bob' was a university graduate who tended to think he was far smarter than just about everyone he knew.  I remember once mispronouncing a word and he took immense delight in correcting me.  He was quite an arrogant person now that I think of it, and perhaps he suffered from 'small angry man syndrome' because of his diminished height.  He was a composite of Bob and Terry from The Likely Lads, in that he had Bob's status-seeking aspirations and Terry's verbal aggression.

When he and his wife moved down to England in (I think) the early '80s, we stayed in touch via 'phone calls and 'cassette-a-letters'.  These were cassette tapes containing 'monologues' and music, similar in style to a radio show, wherein we'd inform the other as to what was happening in our respective lives, and intersperse it with some of our favourite songs.  I can't recall which of us it was (unless I listen to his tapes again, which I still have), but one of us included the PAUL McCARTNEY & WINGS song, MAGNETO & TITANIUM MAN on one of our 'shows'.

If he played it, he came on after it ended and said "As you'll probably know, the Crimson Dynamo is DC's character RED TORNADO."  If I played it, that's what he said in his next tape when he responded to mine.  Not that it matters I suppose.  I'd have to check, but I have a sense that Bob might've been home on a visit to his in-laws before I'd had the opportunity to reply to his tape, so I may've told him this in person.  "Actually, he's MARVEL's The Crimson Dynamo, a foe of IRON MAN."

It was clear from the feeble excuses he made that he didn't like being caught out in an error.  "Well, Marvel's your bag, I'm more of a DC fan.  Blah, blah, blah!"  True, I had (good-humouredly) rubbed his face in it, but as he was usually so smug in his assumed superiority, he was begging to be taken down a couple of pegs - so I took him down.  I may not have gone to university, but I'd shown him I knew more about one of his favourite subjects (comicbooks) than he did.  (And I could beat him at arm wrestling, so I was well ahead in points, if not in academic qualifications.  "Kid is big, Kid is strong.")

I'll say one thing for him though - his ego was bigger than mine (and mine's plenty big).  Whether or not his was equalled by actual ability is something I never found out, but I doubt it.  After all, nobody could be that good.  (And, on the off-chance that he might one day read this and dispute its veracity, my trusty solicitors Hunt, Blunt & Cunningham are standing by.)

RIOTOUS REPOST: LIVE & LET PLAY - OVER HERE, ELSIE...

Copyright relevant owner

Blackpool, 1973.  I'm sat on a deckchair next to my parents in the Sun Lounge of the famous North Pier, half-listening to the organist, RAYMOND WALLBANK, and reading the above paperback, when all of a sudden a high-pitched screech pierces the air: "Elsie... ELSIE!  Over here... OVER HERE!  Cooooo-eeeee... ELSIE!"  The voice belonged to an elderly lady sat next to a companion, who was frantically flapping her handkerchief in an attempt to attract the attention of the aforementioned Elsie who'd just arrived.  Thankfully, Elsie heard her friend (as did residents on the far side of Blackpool, I would imagine) and soon took up the designated place beside her. 

"I'm so glad you found Elsie!", quipped Raymond, good-naturedly, at the end of his tune.  Even I, as an uncouth 14 year-old, recognized the woman's bad manners in interrupting the performance to hail her pal, but I soon re-immersed myself in my book.  True, technically, I was perhaps likewise disrespectful in not paying full attention to Raymond, but at least I was unlikely to disturb anyone else's enjoyment while indulging in the object of my literary preoccupation.

Anyway, today I took possession of a replacement of the very book I read 44 years ago, as a 14 year old youth on Blackpool Pier.  I obtained it from AMAZON for a mere penny - 39 pence short of what the book cost brand-new four decades back.  Okay, I paid £2.80 for post and packing, but I'd probably still have had to pay that if the book had cost me a tenner, so let's not get bogged down in mere details.  (Even if I started it.)

If I recall rightly, I'd been to see LIVE & LET DIE not too long before our visit to the famous seaside resort, so the film was still fresh in my mind.  Also, the day before our departure, I'd acquired the 2nd edition CORGI TOYS ASTON MARTIN DB5 diecast spy-car, which I took with me on holiday.  I'd purchased it in one of my local R.S. McCOLL's, and although it was 1973, it was the original '68 model in the blister pack instead of a box.  (Must've been old stock, I guess.  And yes - I managed to replace it some time back.) 

The difference between the newer version of the car and the original 1965 gold-coloured model was that, unlike its predecessor, it was an actual DB5.  The previous incarnation had been rushed into production at the last minute, so existing moulds of a DB4 were swiftly modified and pressed into production.  In 1967/'68, Corgi Toys created completely new tooling, and, as well as being a slightly larger scale, the new car was the correct silver birch colour and sported revolving number-plates and rear tyre-slashers, as well as all three of the original features on the earlier release.

But I digress.  Returning to the book, there are still parts I recall even after all these years: Roger chipping a tooth and requiring root canal work; having to shoot the wedding/motorboat scene again due to a steering mishap; the sign 'TRESPASSERS WILL BE EATEN' being the actual sign of the crocodile farm and not an invention of the film-makers.  I'm not sure whether the book was ever republished, but the copy I received today is a first-printing and in extremely good condition.  Not bad for one 'new' penny, eh?

So, here's to that long-ago holiday in Blackpool, and all the comicbooks purchased back then; the Aston Martin, Roger's book, Elsie and her pals - and last but not least - the cool-as-a-cucumber Mr. Raymond Wallbank, who sadly died in 2010.  He played on the North Pier from 1965 to 1995, a period of 30 years in all.  When I eventually get around to re-reading the book, you can bet your boots I'll have another hearty chuckle at the memory of Raymond's humorous and gentle 'remonstrance' on that sunny July afternoon back in 1973.

******

Incidentally, prior to that day on the North Pier, I'd thought that the cry of "Cooooo-eeeee!" was a word only ever used in films or comics, not in real life.  After all, it wasn't actually a 'real' word used by 'real' people, was it?  Or so I'd thought until that June or July day in Blackpool back in 1973.  As far as I can recall, that was the first, last and only time I've ever heard it being used  - outside, that is, of someone perhaps using it in an affected manner for humorous effect.

******

We returned to Blackpool on holiday the next year, 1974, and that was the last holiday I ever had - never been away since.  My parents returned several times over the decades, and may well have sat on the North Pier listening to Raymond again on quite a few occasions, but I did so only once.  Odd to think that the initial shared family experience was likely repeated, but without my presence.  Strange what passes through one's mind while reminiscing, eh?

    

In memory of Raymond Wallbank - born August 8th, 1932,

  died February 16th, 2010.

******

Above, is a replacement for ny silver birch Aston Martin, which I acquired sometime in the '90s.

DID YOU EMBRACE The DARK SIDE?

Image copyright DC COMICS

When I was a teenager, I pronounced DARKSEID's name as 'Darkseed', not 'Darkside' as JACK KIRBY had intended.  There are accounts of Jack at comic cons in the '70s where kids would refer to 'Darkseed' and Jack didn't correct them, he'd simply pronounce the name the same as they'd done to avoid embarrassing any of his young fans.

All very laudable, but when I eventually learned how the baddie's name was meant to be pronounced, I wondered why Jack hadn't simply spelled the name of the NEW GODS nemesis as 'DARKSYDE', so as to avoid confusion over how to say it.  Okay, perhaps 'Darkseid' looks better in print, but if everyone mispronounces it, it sort of defeats the intention of calling him that to begin with, don'tcha think?  I'm surprised DC didn't ask Jack to change the spelling before Darkseid's debut in JIMMY OLSEN #134.

I think this was one of the problems with Kirby's DC output - he needed someone to rein him in from time to time, and help refine and polish some of his ideas until they were as good as they can be.  An editor like STAN LEE for example, whose input was invaluable on Jack's work over at MARVEL, would have improved the FOURTH WORLD series of mags no end, and they could well have had a far longer run than they actually managed.

That's why it took me a while to warm to Jack's new titles for the Distinguished Competition - the art looked the same as his Marvel mags, but didn't read the same - not to begin with anyway.  It took a while to get used to Kirby's idiosyncratic scripting, and some readers who followed him over to DC didn't stick around after the first few issues because the mags just didn't 'read right'.

That's my take on things anyway.  What think the rest of you Criv-ites?  Why not weigh in with your view in our captivating and occasionally controversial comments section?  Nothing beats a good rammy!  

BABE Of The DAY - EMILY PROCTER...

I remember hearing about EMILY

having a saggy, furry old cloth cat called

BAGPUSS, but that may be another Emily.

I'll refrain from speculating on the condition

of this Emily's pu... oo-er, I'd better not say

that - you lot all have filthy minds and are

 bound to totally misconstrue it.

YOU'D HAVE TO BE MAD NOT TO HAVE BOUGHT THIS MAGAZINE...

Images copyright DC COMICS

"I don't believe it!" as VICTOR MELDREW would say.  It's now been almost 20 years since I bought the first issue of this 8 issue reprint series of MAD - from the era when it was a comicbook rather than a magazine.  Yup, as every true comics fan will know, Mad started life as a comicbook, in the same format as other 'funny books' of the time.  I already had these comics in a deluxe slipcase set of four hardback volumes, but there was something appealing about seeing them in something resembling their original incarnations, as far as paper quality goes at least.

Well-worth having, and if you don't fancy shelling out big bucks for the hardback volumes, I'd imagine that these 8 classics should be fairly easy and - more to the point - inexpensive to track down on eBay.  Even if you're not consumed with a burning desire to own these great comic mags, I'm sure you'll all still enjoy seeing the colourful covers.

So - here they are.

BABE Of The DAY - IMOGEN HASSALL...

I saw IMOGEN HASSALL in a

'60s episode of 'The SAINT', and in

the end credits her surname was mis-

 spelt as 'Hassell'.  Still lovely!

RUEFUL REPOST: WINDOW On The PAST...

The view from one of my old classroom windows -
now demolished.  (The school, not just the window)

Regular readers will be aware by now that one of the chief delights of my life when younger was gazing out of my classroom windows and losing myself in daydreams.  What cared I about matters pertaining to geography, history, maths and the like?  I was too busy flying around the sky or saving the world - in my fertile imagination, at least.  Sometimes I wasn't quite so energetic in my fantasies, and was content just to watch the clouds glide by in languid motion, going wherever it is that clouds go to.

It should therefore come as no surprise to anyone to learn that I still like to gaze out of windows today, observing the comings and goings of neighbourhood residents, the antics of assorted dogs, cats, birds, squirrels and foxes, and whatever else happens in a typical street.  And yes, I still enjoy just watching the clouds drift by or contemplating the rain pattering off the pavement.  Recently, however, I've become aware of just how few people I actually recognise in their daily perambulations past the panoramic perimeters of my property.

There are now only two faces I can identify from around the time I first came to this house over forty years ago.  One was here before we moved to the area, the other took up residence a year or two after we arrived.  There are others who've lived here for maybe twenty or thirty years, but for some curious reason I still regard them as 'newbies' and not yet established in the neighbourhood firmament.  Strange how them not living here within the first few years of my arrival makes them seem like newcomers I haven't quite adjusted to yet.

The view from my old bedroom window, with my school in sight

There's a possibility that one of the old, familiar faces may sell up and move on in the not too distant future, and the other is retired and getting on in years.  When the last link to how things once used to be has finally gone, I wonder just how I'll react to being surrounded by complete strangers with no connection to my younger days back in the early 1970s.  I've noticed a feeling of 'displacement' gradually creeping up on me over the last few years as more and more 'well-kent' faces have faded from my everyday experience, and sometimes I almost feel like I'm the stranger who doesn't quite belong in these here parts.

It's then that I immerse myself in comicbooks from four decades ago and re-live the early years of when I first moved to this house, in an attempt to recapture the mood, the ambiance, the atmosphere - the flavour - of what it was like to live here back in the sensational '70s, when I was practically just a lad not too far removed from the start of my journey through life and all it had to offer.

Then I lose myself in visions of the past; where long-gone local worthies yet walk the streets beyond my windows - living, breathing, laughing and chatting as they did in bygone days, before they gradually fell, one by one, victims to time.  I seek refuge in a place and a period which now exist only in memory, populated by the ghosts of yesterday, and the knowledge is not lost on me that, one day, my 'continuance' will consist of being nothing more than a lingering echo in the minds of others.

BABE Of The DAY - DANA GILLESPIE...

"Do you want some super sex?"

trilled devastatingly dynamic DANA

GILLESPIE.  "Both - I'll have the soup

afterwards!" I said.  Hah!  I'd outfoxed

her again!  The soup?  It was tomato

 soup - and very tasty it was too.

RAMBLING REPOST: WHAT'S IN A NAME? ARE YOU KIDDING? A LIKELY STORY...

"Why are you called 'Kid'?  Is it because you act like one?"

If I had a pound for every time I've been asked that, I'd have - well, I'd have a pound actually, so I don't suppose there's really too much interest in the topic.  However, I have to fill this blog with something, so - assuming you'll all bear with me in yet another act of shameless self-indulgence - I shall address the issue in the forlorn hope that anybody even remotely cares.

There was a period during my early teenage years when I called everyone "kid".  It was short, snappy, and it meant never having to worry about remembering people's names.  One day, I ran into a pal of mine in the company of a group of his friends. Anticipating my familiar, well-worn greeting, he thought he'd get in first in a daring act of mockery at my little peccadillo.  (Feel free to supply your own amusing rejoinder to that last sentence.)  "Hi Kid!" he said with a cheeky grin upon his smug countenance, immensely satisfied with himself for - in his mind - 'beating me to the punch'.

His pals were unaware of his intended 'irony' however, and merely assumed it to be my nickname.  But ours is a drama decreed by the fates to be acted out (always loved that line by LARRY LIEBER); I subsequently became friendly with that little group, who - in their innocence - always referred to me by that appellation.  And so the name stuck and I've been known as "Kid" - to them and to others - ever since.

But whence came the habit which led to me effectively naming myself?  Why did I call people "kid" to begin with?  I'm glad I pretended you asked.  You see, back in the early 1970s, there was a brilliant comedy show called WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE LIKELY LADS, starring JAMES BOLAM and RODNEY BEWES.  In fact, as they had alternating billing from week to week, if you re-read that last sentence, reverse the order of their names so that I don't hear from their agents or solicitors.

Although the programme was a comedy, it also had pathos, poignancy and profundity - otherwise known as the three Ps.  During the course of their frequent nostalgia-laden soliloquies, the characters often addressed each other as "kid" or "kidda".  In my devotion to the programme and my desire to emulate the two main characters, I soon adopted the practice of referring to everyone I knew (and even some I didn't) as "kidda", which resulted in some fairly puzzled looks.  That's because the words "kidda" and "kidder" sound pretty similar when pronounced with a lazy Glaswegian accent, and this made folks think I was accusing them of pulling my leg in some way.

"Kidder?" they'd say in a slightly bewildered manner (likewise mispronouncing it as "kidda") - "Kiddin' about what?"  Well, it didn't take me too long to realize that adopting the shorter option - "kid" - would avoid any unnecessary confusion amongst my sturdy band of companions and free me from having to endlessly explain myself. It could've been far worse, as I'd once been in the habit of exclaiming "Jings, man!" in response to anything of even a vaguely interesting or surprising nature.

This inevitably led to all my friends and acquaintances calling me "Jings-Man" every time I appeared on the horizon.  Fortunately, I soon dropped the use of this 'oath' (doubtless acquired from reading too many BROONS and OOR WULLIE strips in The SUNDAY POST) and thus escaped any longterm association with the name which could've resulted in lasting damage to my delicate sensibilities.  I much preferred being called "Kid" - or "Sir", even.  (In fact, now that I come to think about it, "Master" is good as well.) 

And there you have it!  The hitherto secret origin of how I gained my teenage nickname which has remained with me to this day.  And you also have an object lesson in the art of writing something about nothing - but you should only ever do so if your very life depends on it, so I have absolutely no excuse.

FABULOUS FLASHBACKS: FANTASTIC At FIFTY...

Images copyright MARVEL COMICS

Launched on Saturday, February 11th 1967, it's been 50 years since Fantastic #1 first appeared on newsagents' counters all across the country.  Published by Odhams Press, it was the next stage in the evolution of comic titles like Wham!, Smash!, and Pow!, which featured U.K. humour strips among Marvel reprints.  (Or vice versa.)  Unlike its companion papers though, the contents of Fantastic weren't resized to fit a British comic's page, instead being granted the privilege of appearing (more or less) in their original format - albeit in a slightly larger size and in black and white.

Credit boxes were omitted, and U.S. spellings, references, and speech patterns were routinely altered ("I ain't" to "I'm not" for example), but just seeing the artwork of Jack Kirby, Don Heck, and Steve Ditko in all its crisp, cataclysmic glory, was what mattered to young readers back in the day.  Not forgetting, of course, the power-packed scripting of Stan (The Man) Lee, Larry Lieber, and also Roy Thomas.

The  periodical was edited by Alfred Wallace and Robert Bartholomew, aka Alf & Bart.  Along with Albert Cosser (Cos), they oversaw the five weekly Power Comics until, like the song's ten green bottles sitting on the wall, there were none left.  Fantastic contained some home-grown produce in the form of an occasional humour page, as well as The Missing Link/Johnny Future strip that appeared for 51 issues, drawn by Spanish artist Luis Bermejo.

 

It lasted only 89 issues, a Summer Special and 3 Annuals, but Fantastic remains one of the more fondly-recalled comics of the '60s by those who were fortunate (and discerning) enough to have bought and relished it at the time.  Tell you what - let's now take a look at why it was just so... Fantastic!

******

(I obtained my first replacement of this ish towards the end of 1980, just over 13 years after it was first published.  Amazing to think that more than 36 years have passed since then.)

  

The MISSING LINK copyright relevant owners

And if you'd like to read the complete episode, click here.

The free pennant-wallet

Below, trade and newspaper ads for the comic's launch. Note that the first one says the comic comes out on Monday 13th February, whereas the second 'says' it's Saturday 11th.  No wonder kids often missed a new comic, if they were looking for it two days after it first went on sale.  The comic came out on a Saturday, not a Monday - despite what the cover said.

(This is a slightly revised post of one first published on February 1st 2011.)

BABE Of The DAY - EMILY PROCTER...

EMILY PROCTER - what a

honey!  (That's all he wrote!)