MARVEL TALES COVER GALLERY...

Images copyright MARVEL COMICS

MARVEL TALES lasted an amazing 30 years, from #1

in 1964 to #291 in 1994.  Like MARVEL COLLECTORS'

ITEM CLASSICS, it reprinted some of the earliest tales of

the most popular heroes from 'The House Of Ideas'.

But, hey - you're not here to read me wittering on in my

typical long-winded fashion.  So why don't I just cut to the

chase and show you the covers of the first 12 issues?  You'd

like that?  Well, I have to confess I'm a tad disappointed you

never took any time to think over that proposition, but who

am I to argue with all you crazy cavortin' Criv-ites?

So here they are!  Any happy memories of any of them?

Then feel free to share them in the comments section.

First bought this issue in a market in Blackpool in 1973

BABE OF THE DAY - JOLENE BLALOCH...

Hell's Bells, what's the world coming to?

Saw a link in my visitor stats to what looked

like a comics site about the DC Universe and

clicked on it to see what it was all about.  I'd have

saved myself a wasted journey (and a shock) had

I only known what 'slash' fiction meant.  I made a

hasty retreat, and here's JOLENE BLALOCH

to show them what they're missing should they

ever decide to drop in on my blog again.

(I won't be visiting theirs!  Strewth!)

Careful about what links you click on!

MARVEL COLLECTORS' ITEM CLASSICS COVER GALLERY...

Images copyright MARVEL COMICS

Before the MASTERWORKS and OMNIBUS volumes,

there was - MARVEL COLLECTORS' ITEM CLASSICS!  68

pages of great superhero strips for only 1/6-  (or 25c if you lived

in the States), they were a handy way of catching up on the earliest

adventures of SPIDER-MAN, The FANTASTIC FOUR, IRON

MAN, Dr. STRANGE, ANT-MAN and The HULK.  (Even

The WATCHER was there to 'watch' over proceedings.)

The line-up varied over the first few issues, before settling

down to a regular cast of heroes, and these issues are now highly

collectable in their own right.  I had quite a few of them in my youth

and have very fond memories of them.  Although I'd read many of

the stories in British weekly periodicals like WHAM!, SMASH!,

POW!, FANTASTIC and TERRIFIC, this was the first time

I got to see them in full-colour, and I liked what I saw.

It was in the pages of  MCIC that I learned that the baddie I

knew as The APEMASTER was actually The RED GHOST,

and that MADAME NATASIA's name was spelt NATASHA in

her original American appearances.  For a short time, in my ignor-

ance, I considered the U.K. reprints to be 'the real thing' and the

U.S. originals as mere counterfeits, but I soon wised up and

learned to appreciate both incarnations of these strips.

Anyway, in celebration of these great comics of yesteryear,

here's a cover gallery of the first dozen issues.  If you remember

them with the same fondness as I do, then feel free to share your

reminiscences of these mags in the comments section.  Don't be

selfish by keeping all those warm memories to yourself.

This ish is dated 1966, but I bought it brand-new off the spinner-rack in
1969.  Thank goodness for delayed distribution of U.S. comics in Britain

Looks like the U.K. price went up with this ish - still a bargain though

BABE OF THE DAY - LINDA THORSON...

The lovely LINDA THORSON shows how

it should be done in the 'wearing leather jackets'

category.  She'll be popping in for a cup of tea in a

minute (then hopefully she'll be 'popping out'), so

I'd better go and put the kettle on (and take the

 gimp mask off - I don't want to scare her).

Right!  Who said "Better keep it on then!" ?

KEN REID'S FINAL FACE-ACHE...

Image copyright REBELLION

Some time back, I showed you the very first FACE-ACHE

strip by KEN REID (from JET #1, cover-dated May 1st 1971),

so I thought it would be nice to show his very last strip that was

published, in BUSTER, cover-dated March 14th 1987, just over

a month after he died (February 2nd).  Ken had started work on

another page but never completed it, and I have a copy of that

unfinished strip.  However, I'm not at liberty to reveal it at the

moment, but that time will eventually come.  (Incidentally,

you can refresh your memory of the first strip here.)

ROLLICKING REPOST: NOW COMES...COLOSSUS!

Whenever I first read a book, the images that form in my head

are indelible.  Even if I re-read the book twenty years later, the exact

same imagery is conjured up in my mind as before - though sometimes

a more careful contemplation of the text might reveal that what I'd en-

visioned was perhaps not in perfect accord with the mental picture the

writer was trying to paint.  (It's usually pretty close though.)

What do I mean exactly?  If a writer's description of a location is

similar enough to one I'm familiar with, then that's where I'll think of

whenever I read the associated piece of text.  KENNETH GRAHAME's

WILD WOOD (from The WIND In The WILLOWS) is an amalgam,

to me, of two different woods in two different neighbourhoods where I lived

as a youth.  Exactly which wood depends on precisely which paragraph (or

sentence) I'm reading, but one descriptive passage will suggest one wood,

and another the other one.  These images formed in my brain when I

first read the book, and these are the images that remain with me

to this day, no matter how many times I re-read it.

So what's that got to do with this strip from the FANTASTIC

Annual for 1968 (issued in August/September of 1967)?  Well, what

I've just waxed boringly about in the preceding preamble is pretty much

the same when it comes to comic strips.  With one difference of course, as

comic strips have their own accompanying set of images which don't require

much, if any, interpretive contribution on the part of the reader.  However,

comic strips still carry with them their own associations of where and

when they were first read, so they leave their own indelible impres-

sions on a reader's mind in a similar way to what novels do. 

  For example, I so associate the COLOSSUS strip - drawn

by the amazing Spanish artist JOSE ORTIZ MOYA - with the house

and neighbourhood in which I stayed when I first read it, that I'm right

back there again in a heartbeat on sight of this particular tale.  Regardless

of however many homes I've lived in (or ever will live in) since my initial

exposure to this story, whenever I've re-read it over the years, it's al-

ways that first house I find myself thinking of each time I pore over

this astoundingly awesome Ortiz artwork.

Anyway, it goes without saying that you all deserve a gold BLUE

PETER BADGE for having to wade through the previous paragraphs

of self-indulgent tosh to get to a point that should've taken only a few

sentences.  You know me though - in love with the sound of my

own computer keyboard.

If you think you recognise the style, you'd be right.  As well as

drawing Spanish strips and working for WARREN PUBLISHING,

Jose also drew strips such as The THIRTEENTH FLOOR and The

TOWER KING for IPC MAGAZINES.  He did much more than I've

mentioned here of course, and fans of the man and his work might like

to read more about his career by looking him up on WIKIPEDIA.

Sadly, he died aged 81 on December 23rd, 2013, but he leaves

behind a rich legacy of absolutely amazing artwork.

Anyway, congratulations - you've scaled the final plateau.

Now you can enjoy this 12-page strip by one of the comic strip

medium's true masters.      

SCHOOLTIME SCANDALS INTERLUDE: RHYMES OF THE TIMES...

I had a little poodle dog,

a poodle dog was he.

He lifted up his poodle leg

and 'poodled' up a a tree.

I remember a lad called Adam Cowie telling

me the above rhyme many, many years ago.  It

started me searching my memory for other child-

hood verses that used to do the rounds in the

playground.  Here's a few I remember.

Good King Wenceslas looked out

on the feast of Stephen,

Turned his trousers inside-out

because his bum was freezin'.

Beans, beans, are good for the heart,

the more you eat, the more you fart.

The more you fart, the better you feel,

beans, beans, for every meal.

Mine eyes have seen the glory

of the burning of the school,

we have tortured every teacher,

we have broken every rule.

We have killed the headmaster

and the cops are on our trail,

but we go marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah,

teacher hit me with a ruler,

the ruler went all red

and the teacher she fell dead

and we've never seen the old goat since.

The fart is a volcanic eruption,

that comes from the island of Bum.

It passes through the trouser canyon

and comes out as a musical hum.

My mammie said Ah wuz to go

for ma daddy's dinner-o.

Beef an' tatties, mince an' steak,

an' a wee bit currant cake.

Went to the river, couldnae get across,

paid ten bob for an old scabby horse.

Jumped on its back, its bones came a-crack,

had to wait 'til the boat came back.

The boat came back, we a' jumped in,

the boat capsized and we a' fell in,

Singing "Don't be weary, try and be cheery,

don't be weary for we're a' goin' home."

Julius Caesar done a beezer
in the middle of France.
The King of Spain done the same,
but only in his pants.

There are different variations of course

(especially of 'Mine eyes have seen the glory'),

but the above verses are how they were said or

sung in my neck of the woods.  Can you think

of any I may have forgotten?

BABE OF THE DAY - JENNIFER BEALS...

The lovely JENNIFER BEALS graces us

with her presence today, fellas.  Looks sunny

in the pic, but clearly there's a bit of a nip in

the air.  (Ooh, I am awful - but I like me!)

SCHOOLTIME SCANDALS - PART THIRTEEN: PUSHED IN A PUDDLE...

Scene of the 'crime':  The foot of the grassy slope, several feet along
from the stairs.  The puddle was at the edge of the grass in the fore-
ground.  The school is just out of view on the left side of the photo

Me and Euan Sheperd weren't exactly what you'd call pals.  However, between classmates, there existed a kind of unwritten rule that it was acceptable, in the absence of one's usual friends, to pass the time in the company of whichever fellow pupil was available when required.  A sort of 'surrogate' pal in effect.

Such was the case on this particular day.  School had finished and Euan and I found ourselves in each other's company as we exited from the school gates.  We made our way to his house, a mere two minutes (if) away from my own, to dump his schoolbag, but he met with an objection from his mother at going back out again.  He pleaded, begged, cried, and implored until his poor mother relented.  "15 minutes - no more!"

So we made our way to the swingpark beside a playing-field between our two houses.  On the way, we ran into his older sister, who enquired where he was going and why he wasn't already back home.  She took his hand and started to lead him back towards his house.  Unsurprisingly, Euan burst into tears and protested that he had permission to be out, but she was having none of it. I timidly piped up at the back "His mum said he could stay out for 15 minutes", whereupon she turned and looked at me as if I were a bad smell.

Then she simply shoved me hard in the chest.  I fell backwards and landed in a large muddy puddle.  As I lay there, spreadeagled and stunned into silence in my surprise, Euan looked at me, ceased his crying, and burst into the irritating girlish giggle for which he was so renowned and ridiculed in equal measure.  Then he simply turned his back and accompanied his sister home.  Treacherous b*st*rd!  This was my reward for my intercession on his behalf?

I would've thought, at the very least, in shame at his sister's behaviour, he'd have assisted me to my feet and apologised for her shocking act, but no, Euan found it highly amusing.  I was left on my own to extricate myself (with much squelching) from the sodden, muddy puddle and make my way home, there to explain my dufflecoat's soiled condition.

Needless to say, I took nothing to do with the wee pr*ck after that.  Even amongst 'fill-in' friends, a certain degree of loyalty was expected, and Euan had been found lacking and fallen at the first hurdle.  Perhaps to this day he looks back and wonders why he wasn't particularly popular at primary.  (Certainly not with me anyway.)

If so, guess what?  I could tell him!

Me & Euan in a class photo.  He's standing
on a kerb behind me, hence the seemingly
huge difference in our height 

RECOMMENDED READING: GOLD KEY STAR TREK SPECTACULAR FROM IDW...

Images copyright PARAMOUNT & IDW

IDW have just released this 100 page Super Spectacular

reprinting GOLD KEY STAR TREK tales from the 1960s

and '70s.  It's a neat little package, no doubt intended to whet

the appetites of fans for the Gold Key Archive editions, the

first of which was released in 2014 and are still ongoing.

(This mag reprints Gold Key issues #s 1, 8 & 14.)

It's reassuring to know that we Brits weren't the only ones

to get things wrong with our home-produced Star Trek strips

when we first started publishing them;  Gold Key were also 'off-

model' from the TV series in several ways with their attempts

to cash-in on GENE RODDENBERRY's 'space western',

as is detailed in an essay by JOSEPH BERENATO.

A great item for all Star Trek and Gold Key fans, killing,

as it does, two birds with the one stone.  Available now from

all good comics shops.  What're you waiting for?!

I'm sure you can stand repetition, as this is the original

PART TWELVE OF SCHOOLTIME SCANDALS: TRIPS, TEACHERS & TEARS...

The incident described occurred just to the left
(and out of sight) beyond the closed fire door

When I was a lad at primary school, there was a boy in my class by the name of Euan (maybe Ewan) Sheperd, who giggled like a girl and was slightly effete.  I never realised it back then, but looking back many years later, it struck me that such was the case.  Euan may well be a big manly man now, but it would come as no great surprise to me to learn that he made the journey to Denmark at the earliest opportunity after leaving school.

But Euan isn't the star of this post - his is nothing more than a cameo role in this true tale from the dim and distant days of my childhood, when I was only about 8 years old.  Euan and myself were part of the double line of pupils waiting at the foot of the stairs one day, ready to ascend to the rooms above.  One of us accidentally tripped as the line started to move, placing us slightly out-of-step with our fellows, and Euan emitted a giggle.  Suddenly, Mr. Halliburton, descended upon us and violently yanked us from the ranks.

Pushing us against a wall, he started to shout at us, and was either going to belt us or give us 'lines'.  (Can't recall with certainty after so many years - it was one or the other.)  I'd had an encounter with Halliburton before (see here) and was determined not to let him intimidate me.  "I'm going to tell my dad about you!" I declared, and started to move towards the door leading to the playground.  (I lived at the top of the road, so my house was nearby.)  He grabbed me by the lapels and pushed me back against the wall, glaring at me menacingly.

At this point Euan burst into tears, eliciting a look of contempt from Mr. Halliburton, who then eyed us while he deliberated his next move.  An internal struggle seemed to be taking place - then he ordered "Get to your class!"  As Euan moved off, Halliburton pulled me back, lowered his voice and muttered "Don't ever threaten me with your father again."  Yeah, that'd be right - adults wouldn't put up with his p*sh, but kids could be easily intimidated.  Except for me that is.

I caught up with Euan as he dabbed his tears away with the back of his hands.  He forced out a giggle - "Hee hee - that always works" he whimpered, sheepishly and unconvincingly.  Yeah, sure - but even so it was no excuse to abandon dignity and self-respect.  However, Mr. Halliburton never tried to bully me or lay his hands on me again in all my remaining time at primary.  That's what I call a result!

Next:  Another tale about the tears of Euan.