POST WAR; a letter-zine dedicated to the proposition that SCIENCE
FANTASY NEWS receives the wackiest mail in fandom. Editorial comments
are enclosed in double brackets (()), and that’s the extent of our
liability. In case this drifts form the accompanying SFN, indignant
letters should be sent to 16, Wendover Way, Welling, KENT.
********
From PAUL ENEVER, 9, Churchill Avenue, Hillingdon, MIDDX.
How I envy those indefatigable writers who can sit down and bash
out a thousand word eyewitness account at the drop of a hat! I want
to give you, in this letter, my impressions of a first visit to
the ‘White Horse’, but I fear it will be like an amateur attempt
at repairing the grandfather’s clock, enough bits and pieces left
over to make another article.
In the first place, whoever named the London Circle was totally
lacking in realism. It isn’t a circle at all -- it’s a whirlpool
full of madly spinning bodies, and the unwary visitor is in constant
danger of being drawn under. In fact, I was several times totally
submerged, and this wordy foundering so baffled and bemused me that
I have only the oddest memories on which to base an impression.
How did Will Shakespeare who has never, so far as my knowledge
of the classics goes, written anything for GALAXY or ASTOUNDING,
get into the circle? ((You think he should be bard?)) Yet I remember
discussing him at great length with two fervent admirers. Or was
I the admirer and they the opponent?
Did I actually bestow largesse on a gentleman claiming to be
the Convention Treasurer? Or did I only (cunningly) declare an intention
of doing so? Was there indeed a glorious moment when I bestowed
a familiar greeting on that eighth Pillar of Wisdom, the venerable
Astronaut himself? Or was I merely mouthing at shadows on the wall?
You wouldn’t know. All the wonder and glory was lost on you, who
merely grovelled though piles of dead cards and composed unheroic
and deadly little circular letters. Have you ever felt the intense
vibration engendered by near-contact with foursided triangle? Have
you ever known the joy of hurling insults at John Christopher in
the safety of blanketing uproar?
Have you ever felt the chill of ultimate disillusion when it
was pointed out that the impressive gentleman with the saturnine
features, whom you fondly supposed to be, at the very least, an
EDITOR, was after all, only a yearling fan? Or glowed with joy to
hear your name mentioned aloud by a total stranger -- even though
the utterance was followed by a sound best expressed as ‘phew’?
((Yes))
Perhaps I wrong you. Possibly you too have passed through such
a phase. I only hope your subsequent account was as incoherent as
mine. Who was the large man with a duffle coat and a large beard?
((Bert Campbell)) Who was the small man with a red face and only
slightly redder tie? ((Frank Arnold)) WHO THE HECK WAS WHO? I insist,
before I pay another visit, that identifying photos of every habitué
be posted on the wall -- or that someone compile a Who’s Who of
SF. Or that official guides be provided for us dumb innocents from
the country.
I thought to come away well furnished with statistics and other
material. I’d intended to enumerate soft, hard, and beery drinks
consumed, quantity of sausage rolls eaten, mileage of smoked cigarettes,
all useful items of data in a penetrating analysis. But too large
a proportion of drinks went down me, the sausages rolls vanished
too fast to be counted, and cigarettes were obscured by their own
smoke -- I got a hangover, indigestion, and a hacking cough, but
no statistics. I also got paralysis though so much hand-shaking,
bruised knuckles for snatching at a GALAXY that someone else had
marked down for his own, and sore feet from walking the last lap
home, not to dwell on the sidelong glances received from a well-meaning
but fanatically anti-fannish wife.
At an hour appointed by the London magistrates I emerged into
the unfriendly night, accompanied by two stalwart straws such as
a drowning man might well clutch at, and exchanged the roar of the
whirlpool for the comparative calm of the Thunderground Railway.
At varying distances along this line I lost my straws, but by the
Grace of Ghu arrived unscathed in Uxbridge, whence my three-mile
trek began. I arrived home in the early hours, though if it hadn’t
been for the kindness of a USAF Sgt. who gave me a life partway
in one of the mouthorganic monstrosities they laughingly call ‘autos’…
Shall I ever repeat the hazardous experience? Yes… but not for
at least a month. It will take that long to recuperate.
Yours, in rare good humour,
((Who dropped that hat?))
From PETE G. TAYLOR, (Editor of PERI), 42 Geneva Road, Brixton,
SW9
To begin with I must say that ALL of the blokes with whom I work
at a printers are ANTI-science-fictioneers.
Well, recently we had a new electric cutter installed in the
upstairs Cutting Room, and on the following day our cutler was busy
trying our his new toy, whilst I was explaining to him the mysterious
incidents (working meanwhile!) of the EPICENTRE ceilings and the
unfortunates who experienced them. ((Nice phrase))
The cutler turned suddenly and told me nastily that I could take
the blanketty ceiling and the ditto cranks who read the ***** s-f
tripe and sent the lot to the EVERLASTING FIRES below. (humiliation!!)
Seconds later, one of the legs on the table on which he was stacking
his work went through the floor (which forms the ceiling of the
composing room) with a gleeful scrunch, showering an apprentice
compositor standing directly beneath it with large lumps of plaster.
He was also anti-s-f.
Both have condescended to sign for the authenticity of this mss.
Triumph for me, builder’s expense for the Gov’nor -- ’nuff said.
*****((Almighty Ghu watched over all his Junior Fanatics. The
business of the Epicentre was obviously the result of Malignant
Forces, though. Another ceiling fell in December, and we understand
Ken Bulmer is living inside the oven. Oh yes, and the Fan-Van, celebrated
in song and story (horror-story) ... a wheel came off in the Summer,
and later the engine fell out. As no museum would accept it, this
fabulous vehicle which has conveyed at various times such -- er
-- people as James White, Arthur Clarke and the entire staff of
SFN was sold for a four-figure sum (including shillings and pence).))
From ROGER DARD, 232 James Street, Perth, Western Australia
Have often intended to write and give you some news, but somehow
I have never quite got around to it. This business of being an active
fan you know, ain’t all it’s cracked up to be! Oh to be one of those
despised creatures who only do silly things like reading the prozines,
heh heh!
The fan situation in Australia at the moment is good quantitatively,
but bad otherwise. There are more fans today than at any other time
since the war, but this resurgence of fanac has come at a bad time,
as some little time ago we were unlucky enough to get saddled with
a new Minister for Customs, a fantasy-hating character named Senator
O’Sullivan. Since this gentle character took over, he has already
made his presence felt. Of course, this country has been notorious
for its peculiar Customs regulations for the past decade, but O’Sullivan
has made things worse than they have ever been. In fact, he has
unleashed a veritable Reign of Terror. OPERATION FANTAST has been
banned, and as O.F.’s Australian representative I was raided by
the police, on Customs orders, and subjected to a thorough interrogation.
In fact, as a result of the pressure which was brought to bear
on me, I have been literally forced out of the field. I have resigned
from O.F., cancelled all my book orders from Ken Chapman, and will
take no further part in fanactivity until Australia becomes a civilised
nation again. (But I still want to keep in touch per SFN). Genial,
lovable Senator O’Sullivan meanwhile is joyously banning books which
were never banned before in our history -- and none of our previous
Customs Minsters could be said to be very liberal in their outlook.
ALICE IN WONDERLAND, Campbell’s WHO GOES THERE?, ((reprinted here
as ‘The Thing f.a. World’)), and all of A Merritt’s books have already
had the axe fall on them. We expect GRIMM’S FAIRY TALES to go at
any time.
So you see, if any of you oppressed fans over there in the UK
wanna know the joys of living in a really free country, why, just
come to Australia.
*****((Will the Belfast group kindly sic a banshee onto O’Sullivan?
Haven’t you got any liberal or leftish papers over there, Roger,
that’d get on their hind legs and scream? The question isn’t the
dollar bugbear, apparently, as British stuff is banned, but just
a sort of moral issue which should be wide open to attack. You’re
on SFN’s complimentary list henceforth, anyway; will other British
faneds copy?))
From JOHN J. GREENGRASS, 10, Marham Road, Lowestoft, SUFFOLK
Since I last saw you I’ve got married and am in the process of
settling down. ‘Settling down’ includes, amongst other things an
attempt to form a local s-f club, hence my letter in the hope that
you can offer some advice on the subject. The problems are how to
increase membership (8 at present) and what to include in the functions
of the club besides a library. I have plenty of ideas, but prefer
to avoid the sterile ones. Of course, the eventual aim -- or one
of them -- is to produce a fanzine…
((Energy! Well, we’d say that for increasing membership, get
a mention in the local paper; write a short article on s-f so that
it’ll be of interest to readers other than enthusiastic fans; Tony
Thorne seems to get a regular notice in his Medway paper! Insert
duplicated or printed sheets in magazines sold locally; get a mention
in NEW WORLDS, AUTHENTIC, and NEBULA. Write to the Manchester group
re. co-operation with the local cinema… any other ideas, fans?
As for functions of the club, a once-a-month discussion perhaps,
but make it a free-and-easy get-together as much as possible. A
fanzine is the best binding force and focus of energies as well,
but make sure there are several members willing to work on it ...
nothing is more disheartening than being expected to produce a ’zine
on one’s own (for a specific purpose… not for ‘fun’).))
JOHN GUTTERIDGE, of 61, Hawkins Road, Shoreham-by-Sea, Sussex,
writes:-
Every time the postman walks up the path with some mail for me,
he gives me a sickly grin, as much as to say, ‘some people have
more money than sense’, and then I smile back at him and think ‘ah
yes, but if it wasn’t for stf fans, where would postmen be…?’ On
Tuesday he had a more than usually ferocious look on his face, so
I let my mother collect the letters… yes, it was SFN. ((Another
reason why we’re infrequent… considerate, that’s us)). The lead-in
was very clever, but not so good as the one in the last ish. Glad
to hear that some-one else is to publish a prozine. How come they
announce a monthly issue, when NOVA can’t get newsprint? ((They
can be optimistic, can’t they?))
In the printing industry, the use of a colon (:) followed by
a dash (-) is an unforgiveable offence, although same appear to
be advocated in schools. I noticed you use it quite a lot. For such
occasions as warrant the use of a hyphenated colon, you use a plain
colon. ((Quite wrong… our colon is all squiggly))
The film review was satisfactory, apart from the mention of ‘Flight
to Mars’. The very least you could have given over to this was a
complete page. P’haps you fell asleep during the course of the show
(or your reviewer did). ((You too?))
I’ve received a letter from my pal in the States, and I think
you’ll be interested in the following letter which was the one he
received from the BSFA.
“You may find the enclosed a little premature, but we feel that
you are practicing the main purpose of our organisation over here
and we gladly appreciate any co-operation between one s-f fan and
another.
“Your friend Mr Gutteridge has recently joined our association
and we look forward to the derivation of mutual benefits.
“We strive for greater comradeship in our particular form of
literature and everything the word comradeship entails; exchange
of books, views and information.
“We had up to the present something like 300 fans in your own
country on our mailing lists and we would be gratified to place
yours there. Okay?
“In any event, of you ever have an itchy pen, try dropping a
line to these people (enclosed were six addresses, 3 English, 1
Australian, 2 American) -- all avid s-f fans who will be only too
pleased to accept the chance of jawing s-f to someone else.”
I do not vouch for the spelling, as it’s second-hand. This chap
tells me he didn’t write to any of the addresses, and apparently
did not contact the assoc. at all. He confirmed my query that he
had heard nothing since, excepting some Milcross lists which he
assumed were via the BSFA. Perhaps a query with Mr Crossen or someone
will verify the supposition. ((Frank? … Les?)) I am rather disappointed
that I have heard nothing from them since you sent the current issue
of SFN. There is of course the possibility that they tore it up
without reading it!
*****((For newcomers, the British Science Fiction Association
is a mysterious body whom those who reckon we’re s-f fans can’t
contact. See the last SFN. No word of any sort of activity by the
BSFA has come our way since then. We’ve had a number of comments
in letters, practically all unprintable, but see one from George
Clements herewith.
You might be interested in an odd incident that happened to us
recently. Wandering around the environs of London’s book-lined Charing
Cross Road, we came across a new bookshop. Except for the fact that
it was painted by blue there seemed to be little our of the ordinary
about it, until we saw the legend painted over its windows:-
SCIENCE
FICTION
|
X
|
MEDICAL
BOOKS
|
We looked twice, just to make sure, then dived inside. The interior
was square-ish and each wall was lined with books, pbs and magazines.
It was hard to see the contents of one wall as book-lovers were
standing in front of it; this was undoubtedly the section labelled
‘War-Time Astoundings’ so we peeked over shoulders. We obtained
an eyeful of racks of semi-nude photos and a shelf of pseudo-French
’zines. Not, evidently, s-f, unless there was some connection with
biology.
We looked around. Detective and western ’zines. Several racks
of books that might be loosely classified as ‘medical’… such titles
as ‘Abnormal Sex Psychology’, ‘Far Eastern Sexual Practices’ etc
etc. A number of Paul Renin’s pocket-books, but none of Vargo Statten’s.
Evidently, there was as mistake. The legend was supposed to read
SCIENCE, and then, unrelated, FICTION. We went outside again and
took a few breaths of cool evening air. It was hot inside the shop.
We were just about to walk away when we saw a board placed alongside
the door. This was vertical, and at the bottom was
SCIENCE- FICTION
We went inside again. There was a sort of cashier’s compartment
in one corner, occupied by two men. The younger was talking on the
’phone and making off-stage remarks to a sweet young thing. Sleeping
berths to Paris were being booked. The older gent, a slightly hard-bitten
looking individual who’d have looked complete with a long black
cigar to chew was sitting down and looking gloomily into nothingness.
Obviously wondering how long until the next GALAXY came over. We
coughed.
“Er,” we said. “Er, excuse me. You’ve got science-fiction advertised
on your board outside I presume that’s two separate words -- it
doesn’t mean the type of literature called science-fiction?” Somehow,
it seemed out-of-place talking about ‘literature’ here, but we couldn’t
think of appropriate synonym.
The gent looked up.
“Yep, that means science-fiction.”
We twitched an eyebrow. “Really? I don’t see any..”
He stood up and pointed in the general direction of our feet.
“There’s some magazines,” he said briefly,. He seemed to be a man
of few words.
We looked down. On a rack nearest the floor, and almost hidden
by the legs of the devotees of Art, were three Fantastic Adventures
BREs. The same issue. We had in fact seen them on the first visit,
but you know how one forgets FA as soon as possible.
We looked at him. “Is that all you have?”
It was evidently the wrong thing to say. Maybe he was sensitive
on the point.
“Yep, that’s all at present.” He sat down again. He almost looked
hurt.
“Oh well, I’ll look in again some other time.”
We went out. We hadn’t asked whether his name was L W Nowlan,
but we can always do that if anyone ever knocks us unconscious and
drags us in there.
We give you, to put beside the s-f society that isn’t interested
in s-f fans, the s-f shop that doesn’t sell it… this isn’t looking
like a letter-zine, either…))
BILL GIBBS, 474 Caledonian Road, Wishaw, Lanarkshire, Scotland,
writes :-
THE COTTAR HOWKIN’ IN THE SHEUCH
THE BAIRNIES DOOKIN IN THE BROKKIE
MAY MUCKLE DLUIDY NOISE ENEUCH
BUT AN IRISH BLETHER TAKES THE COOKIE
(The Immortal Bard)
Otherwise SFN2/4 was fine.
*****((We’ll get kilt for printing that…))
POCKET POCKET-BOOK REVIEW, contained in a letter from JAMES
L KEEPING:-
BLACK INFINITY -- by Berl Cameron (Curtis Warren). Seldom in
the history of PB fiction has fandom been offered such a bargain
as this three-in-one masterpiece.
In the first place it is (quote) A New Story From America’s Star
Author. It being a private belief that we all knew Mr Kuttner’s
pseudonyms we were rather disturbed to have a new one thrust upon
us, nevertheless we gladly add Berl Cameron to an extensive list.
In the second place, BLACK INFINITY comes to us bedecked in a
most striking cover illo. There is no suggestion that Clothier had
anything to do with it -- no suggestion at all, except that he DID
it twice before. The same spaceship rises from a similar sea on
the cover of NEW WORLDS no 5, and the same alien architecture features
on NW No 9.
Thirdly, ‘Berl Cameron’, be what American Star he may, is obviously
a psychic twin of Harry Stine. We quote from GALACTIC GADGETEERS
(asf BRE April ’52)
“You can’t do it!” Radio Office Bill Rich bellowed. “Perfect
square wave oscillators just don't exist!”
“Oh no?” Radar Officer Ted Anderson shot back. “All I gotta do
is generate a sine wave, clip it, amplify it and clip it again…”
Cameron has this to say on the same knotty subject:
“But you can’t…” grinned Raynor… “They’ve been trying to do that
trick for centuries. Plenty of round waves and pointed ones, but
a square wave…”
“Should be simple enough,” considered Gleitzes. “All it needs
is a sine form, clip it, square it, boost it… clip it again for
correction and there we are! Simple…”
My, my. How these physicists hang together. They should hang
singly.
Add to these exhilarating points 1) a Mad Scientist 2) a Girl
Stowaway from Mars and 3) a clash between Thousands of Spaceships
and obviously you have your one and sixworth. You have also been
warned…
*****((Those readers still possessing SFN2/2 containing ‘Calling
the Emperor’ by Terry Jeeves will recall a passage therein… “Still,
dogged does it!” He setter pointer at peke, and a little poodle
of radio waves formed from the side-band splash…” Please amend that
to read "a little clipped poodle”.))
POCKET POCKET-BOOK REVIEW, contained in a letter from CHUCK
HARRIS
I have just finished reading your breath-taking novel “Space
Treason”. Kindly return my breath immediately. And they chopped
down trees to get the paper to print this. I have no doubt that
you’re sitting smugly behind a heap of royalty payment cheques,
or watching Zanuck fight Lippert for the film-rights, but I did
think you’d be interested in an old-time fan’s opinion (been active
since waaay back in ’48… I can still remember the thrill of opening
the first GALAXY…)
POCKET POCKET-BOOK REVIEW, contained in a letter from GEORGE
CHARTERS
Did you read a PB called ZERO POINT by ‘Rand le Page’? It really
is a queer production. It has Jovians who can assume almost any
shape at will, by Jove. In their usual shape they breathe methane
and ammonia ((hence the song “Ammonia Jovian Vagabond”)) but when
they sprout two tentacles for legs, two for arms, and a human-looking
head, they breathe oxygen. And even when arrayed in a space-suit,
the hero can jab its eyes and the stench of it makes his brain swim
madly as he tries to get a hold on the slimy scaly skin. There is
a space-ship. And what a spaceship! It starts off with a length
of 2,640 feet, shortens to 2,500 feet, and winds up as 5,280 feet.
A sort of Fitzgerald contraption, of course, off course. It is sometimes
referred to as a plane. It has airtight doors here and there in
its corridors, BUT if the airlock is opened in space all the air
leaves the ship! Also, out in empty space, the enema, sorry, enemy
ship flies over it and drops a bomb on it. The crew, incidentally,
can stand up to 20 gravities. (Acceleration or exhilaration?) Going
from Sol to Sirius (which has suffered enough puns) ((Canis be true?))
they run into a storm which brings them back almost the whole distance
in 2 days -- by means of the hyperadial orbit of Antares.
When the hull is heated by friction during the storm, metal oozes
across the control-room floor.
They run across a derelict battle-cruiser -- the hero goes to
investigate -- he finds a GIRL -- brings her back to the ship --
and one of his mates asks “How in the name of all the hells did
a woman get to be on that ship. It’s unbelievable. DID YOU FIND
ANY OTHERS?”
And the hero, without battling an eyelid, says, “No, she was
the only one.”
POCKET POCKET-BOOK REVIEW in a letter from PAUL ENEVER
My every energy is bent, on writing some ribald comment, upon
the latest from the pen, of Clarke, A V and Bulmer, Ken (Tho’ it
is hard, as you can see, to make it rhyme successfully, in fact
it drove me quite frenetic, to rhyme Controller, Cybernetic), but
perhaps I’d better sing, Soft, until I’ve read the thing!
From BOB SHAW, 70 Loopland Drive, Belfast, N.I.
I have browsed around the house for the last couple of hours
and having run out of brows I decided that it was high time that
I dropped you a letter. Since I got back to Erin I have been working
like mad. ((Natch)) The new firm is absolutely marvellous, it has
got so that I hurry to it in the morning, and at half past five
pack up with a twinge (or is it a tinge) of regret. I suppose it
would be a twinge, though I used to think that a twinge was a twouch
of colour. I have been doing a fair bit of fanning at Walt’s too.
(This first para is printed for the benefit of Londoners who used
to have long, serious and constructive drinks with Bhob at the ‘White
Horse’. Follows the real science-fiction fannish stuff we usually
get from Belfast…)
The night before last I was God to a spider. I went up to the
bathroom and there I saw this huge insect dangling from the cistern.
I was rather surprised ’cos it was the first one I seen in mid-winter.
I couldn’t bring myself to just crush it out of existence. Even
in the summer when they abound I hate to do it, especially on a
big one. I stood for a moment undecided -- then I remembered that
my brother had received an air rifle for Christmas.
I hauled it out, got some slugs, and then I was ready, almost.
The thought came to me that the spider, however obnoxious, had some
claim to life. So I selected three slugs & ruled that if it
survived those I would carry it out to the garden and set it free.
I opened the bathroom door and went to the end of the landing, opened
the front bedroom door and went to the far end of that -- giving
the insect the whole length of the house. I took aim, allowing two
inches for the flattening of the front sight, and fired. I had forgotten
that the gun I was using was not one of those cheap toys one usually
sees but a heavy pre-War German job. ((Krupps, no doubt))
When I went to see the results of the first shot I found that
as well as almost deafening me in its departure, the slug had splintered
the woodwork around the feedpipe, caved in part of the pipe itself,
and scattered still-twitching pieces of spider over a two-inch radius.
It was horrible. I’ll never do it again.
*****((Yes, it probably does rain on Venus))
From ALEX MORRISON, 24, High Road, Stevenston, Ayrshire
Received my first copy of SFN and must say I enjoyed it very
much. I have only two suggestions to make, one is that you might
have smaller pages, and thereby increase the number (seems to me
I’ve heard this said before). My second is about your Belfast “friends?".
Must you give so much space to their letters instead of the ordinary
fen, or are you running an advertising campaign to sell more copies
of ‘SLANT’ over here (there’s a thought). Anyway, Willis or no Willis,
I’m looking forward to receiving the next issue of SFN. PS Who
is this guy White anyway?
*****((Now, lookee, son, (sez he, spitting thoughtfully at a
passing meteor) you’re a mite tangled up. What are these ‘ordinary
fen’? Why, they’re the 80% who never write in to a pro'’
or fan’zine.
James White? Just one of the fans hanging around. Draws pretty
well, writes letters and articles and stories, had his first two
full length stories accepted by NEW WORLDS (see current issue for
the first) ... surely you know James?
From JAMES WHITE, 29 Dolinpark Street, Springfield Road, BELFAST
The mag this issue was uniformly good. (it was good last issue
too, so don’t jump down my throat.) I particularly liked Jim Rattigan’s
piece and the Editorial (N.A.C.) the first for being a good job
of reporting and the second for its ... well, shall we say its air
of indefinable elan. (I read that somewhere. Not sure just what
it means, but it sounds nice, don’t you think?) ((We always try
for elan… you might say our priam purpose is elan of try)). ‘Expedition
SFN’ was also very good, but I can’t help thinking there is a small
but important error in its basic premise. I can’t put my finger
on it at the moment, guess I’ll have to bring it before the Society.
No, not my finger.
I’m glad my bit in the ish before last was well received in some
quarters, (including NATO Head- ) Getting mentioned, even if it
was only twenty-seven times, with three oblique references, is very
encouraging to a humble tyro type beginner like myself.
((Striving with mighty forces too big to be contained in one
fanzine, the White/Harris feud boils over into SFN; (see HYPHEN
for further details); we’ve been acting as a buffer state/mail-man/non-belligerent/go-between,
so:-))
Out of sheer politeness I read that ‘letter’ from “ ”.
It was, as usual, threatening, insulting and sarcastic, mostly sarcastic.
Will you tell him that the proper spelling of that word is ‘Curé'
with a little stroke over the ‘e’, and the way he spelt it means
a dirty, mangy, flea-bitten mongrel dog which has its habitat in
or around American and Mexican Indian settlements, and anyway, just
because I’m a noble, high-principled , ascetic type doesn’t mean
he should make cracks about it. As a Thinker you must know how it
is when you are pondering and one of his letters arrives. You begin
to sense a subtle wrongness, a flaw in the great Scheme of Thing,
and you suddenly realise that it’s been there all the time, and
furthermore, that it has remained substantially unaltered since
the business with the apple at the beginning. If he ever comes to
Ireland St. Patrick will be gunning for him as well.
I have refused to answer its letter, naturally, I can’t be bothered.
I have merely sent a pc requesting briefly but politely that it
discontinues its futile attempts to enrage me.*
… the way I see it, we’ll arrive about noon Friday, occupy an
obscure hovel in Rainham during Friday night, then I, at least,
want to stay at the Bonnington Sat. & Sunday nights in case
the Con. doesn’t knock off for sleep. Also it is my wish to hold
converse with persons of culture and breeding like Dorothy Jacobs
and George Charters before I take the Last Long Trip to Rainham.
The thought of lying awake under the same roof as harris fills me
to the neck with trepidation, but I’m almost sure it wouldn’t try
to pull anything before the Con. Afterwards, though, it will be
different. It will have me in its power completely, and I am abysmally
certain of what the final result will be. Still, when you’ve got
to go, you’ve got to go, and none of us wants to live forever. I
hope that, when the time comes, I will face my fate steadfastly,
and go down with a half-smile on my face and a water-pistol pumping
in each hand. I was thinking of speaking only my native tongue,
as this is supposed to be a protection against the were and vampires,
but this, at best, would only be delaying tactics. I am sore afraid.
Nil me go mait, ta scanragh orm.
*****((This is a respectable fanzine and we don’t want none of
that there language ’ere. Houtside, hif you please. *The pc. consisted
of two words… Ahhh, SHADAAAAP! ))
NOTE. You’ll notice plans are already on hand and afoot re. the
CORONVENTION… have YOU started preparations yet?????????
++++++++++
SECOND AUSTRALIAN S-F CONVENTION Division of Overseas
Publicity, 24, Warren Road, Double Bay, Sydney, Australia.
We are seeking the assistance of everyone associated with s-f
to publicise our SECOND AUSTRALIAN S-F CONVENTION to be held over
the first weekend in May, ’53. The first (’52) Convention was a
great success and we hope this one will be even better. We want
assistance in two forms: Firstly -- Editors of the S-F Magazines:
We need direct publicity. Can you find space to give us a mention?
Secondly -- The matter of booster Ads in the CONVENTION SOUVENIR
BOOKLET. Last year we were well supported by prominent fans, magazines,
booksellers and publishers taking space. We hope for their support
again this year. The advertising rates are:- Full page 17/6d (Aust.),
half page, 10/-, quarter page 5/-, Back cover 1½ guineas
(Aust.), Inside back cover 1 guinea.
++++++++++
PETE CAMPBELL, 60, Calgarth Road, Windermere, Westmoreland,
writes:-
… Nope, no news. I can however offer you a study in still life,
a brief outline of the history and proceedings of the Lakeland S-F
Club. In June we decided to organise, and two days later the club
had no less than two members,. Two weeks later the total membership
had risen to two. The statistics now show 5 members, however, and
we are liable to find somebody else any day. Funnily enough, our
expenditure is approx. twice our income, but as I am Treasurer,
Secretary, Librarian, Witch Doctor Extraordinary, Director of Publicity,
(President also, when I get around to rigging an election), you
can be sure the club’s affairs are in competent if slightly dirty
hands…
*****((Same hands now hold the fate of ANDROMEDA… see SFN. This
is a rather old letter, so the membership may be nearing 6 by this
time.))
FRED ROBINSON, (note new address,) 63, Newborough Avenue,
Llanishen, Cardiff, S. WALES Writes:
… Slanday -- Punday -- Ghusday -- Fen’sday -- Gnurr’sday…
*****((Being too busy on CAMBER to write in the last 3 months…))
********
((So you edit a newsmagazine, and as a mere tidbit and because
you think it’s worthy of note you make a statement to the effect
that an English s-f author has just sold for the first time to ASF;
said author being a large part of a pseudonymous hack called ‘Gill
Hunt’, only because you’re short of space you say it’s his ‘ASF
… 1st sale…’ and shortly afterwards a missive drops through your
letterbox and lies fizzing on the mat:–
From JOHN BRUNNER, Highlands, Woodcote, Reading.
Dear Wince, I am dumbbelled – libelled. Nor does that mean someone
has pasted a libel on me and dropped me in a pillarbox bound for
Clacton-on-Sea and all points to Marsport Central. No! Worse! Tho
I am, I suppose (boy, I have an imagination!) grateful for your
ego-bootiful mention of my name, you are gilt-edged – guilty – and
this should make you green about the gilts into the ashcan – bargain
– of an egregious insult. Sockdologers – apologies – accepted. GET
UP OFF YOUR KNEES! My sale to ASF, though by far my most rewarding
and egoballooning to date (incidentally, the story is called THOU
GOOD AND FAITHFUL – plug), is NOT REPEAT NOT my first. What do you
think I am – a poor struggling author living in a garret off rinds
of mouldy cheese? Of course I’m not! ((I’m sure that we will all
be glad to hear, etc etc.)) Humorously, though, I have made other
sales – this statement for the edification of anyone contemplating
making a completionist library of my works. Don’t take this to heart
– assuming you have one. I found SFN 2/4 (oughtn’t that rather improper
and vulgar fraction to be reduced to its lowest terms? It’s so long
since I pressed the 'half' key on this machine except by mistake
for a full stop that I am going to½ There½. The other
one should, of course, not be there. For ½ read .)
.
The above is the shortest paragraph known to man.
Redrawn covers? I admit I haven’t looked at them very closely
yet, but I didn’t notice much difference between the July BREASF
and the March ’51 USASF’s cover. I do not intend to buy the plurry
things even to fill out my collection. Who is responsible for the
low-down trick of putting out a March ’51 USASF as the BREASF for
July ’52 – just after I had decided they weren’t going to and that
it was safe to buy the USASF without being undercut? ((You must
have enemies))
On re-reading the above, I am struck forcibly ((we told you))
by the fact that at the end of para 1 I was intending to comment
in extended order on this copy of SFN. I’ll do that.
Multiple puns don’t suit me. I just can’t coat with them. Sometimes,
though, their glamour drawers me to try one on, but of corset never
comes off. While I was writing this letter, for instance, I felt
I’d glove to sock you with one – even a shorts one. So, brim-full
of optimism, I fell to with a vest. But – bodice it about a pun?
Though I shoes my words with care and tie them neatly together,
the right combinations never seem to turn-up. After ten panting
minutes in which my bra-vura dwindled rapidly, I suspendered operations
briefly to see if I could sweater little inspiration out of anyone
else’s. No good. Undieterred, I braced myself for another try, but
all I got was a bad fit which almost kilt me and in the end I hat
to jacket.
Sorry, the temptation was too great. ((You shod have thot before
you bespoke.))
Umph. Optimistic about NEBULA, aren’t you. Yes, that was a very
good and fair review Ratigan gave ‘Atomic City’. I saw it last Saturday.
As for the BSFA, you don’t think an enlightened body like that would
condescend to associate with such commercialised riff-raff as you,
do you? EXPEDITION SFN was full of second-rate pseudo-science –
surely everybody now knows that the only way of reaching the moon
is to use a ladder? Balloons pshwawawa. (Cue for trumpets – muted
– and did you know that there is available on LP (LC6511) a record
called collectively MUSIC OUT OF THE MOON, comprising ‘Celestial
Nocturne’; ‘Mist o’ the Moon’; ‘Radar Blues’; ‘Lunar Rhapsody’;
(2) ‘Moon Moods’; ‘Lunette’ [titles in original all underlined rather
than in quotes] – all by Dr. S. J. Hoffman and his theremin. I think
I shall get it.)
There are TOO MANY GOOD ZINES ON THE MARKET! ((Impossible))
((And a later letter:–))
THIS IS ANOTHER POEM WHICH IS THE ONLY ONE OF ITS KIND IN THE
ENGLISH LANGUAGE
I don’t think you heard from me this Christmas, but I found buying
cards was so expensive I said the hell with it and bought one handsome
specimen and addressed it to the whole durn London Circle. I hope
it got there. I hope further that you had a convivial and jubilant
Christmas – mine was marred by a small item which I should be grateful
if you wd mention to people you might want to mention it to in case
they write to me – to wit, I’ve been drafted at last, to Padgate
of all the loathsome dumps and have to take wings and things north
on the sixth. When I get there I’ll look up the NWSFCCCCCCCC and
C what’s doing. But it looks as though I’ve stopped living on borrowed
time.
All of which is very melancholy. Imagine me being referred to
as 246810 Excrescence Brummer (? Browner, Brown or Bruin, which
are the commonest perversions I suffer from). The very thought of
it turns my throat to water and constricts my knees, not to mention
making me weak at the blood. (Any idea how far Padgate is from Liverpool?
Or is that a silly question?) ((16 miles from Liverpool, 14 from
Manchester … SFN FAN-LOCATION BUREAU)) As for other news of myself,
I have come to the conclusion that of all the mags edited by past,
present or future editors of Ziff-Davis ‘zines, IF is the most unexpected
and FANTASTIC is the best aside from being in my hair all the time.
((You won’t have that to worry about much longer, airman….))
I mean – when one reaches the stage when one is reduced to fantastic
& fantastic sf fantasy & sf fantastic worlds &
etcetera it seems somebody’s brain has run up to a dead end ((FANTASTIC
is right there, son)) How about a few original names? Squuljnak
and Zizzbaum are but two of the many that leap instantly to the
mind. (To my mind at any rate.) By the way; you may be wondering
where the bit about the poem comes in. You can see there’s a headline
claiming that this is another of those unique epics. Well, it is.
And just so you needn’t puzzle any more, I’ll explain that these
two paragraphs rhyme.
(Free verse…. but if you want to pay for it you can)
*****((What will happen to the RAF now ? See next
issue’s thrilling instalment ... and by the way, John tells us he’s
sold a book-length yarn to TWO COMPLETE SCIENCE-ADVENTURE BOOKS.
Subscriptions may be cancelled at any dealers.))
GEORGE CHARTERS, 333,333 Lancaster Ave., Bangor, Co. Down,
N.I., writes:–
Dear Vin¢, Did I ever tell you that the first time I saw
your name spelt thataway it had to be explained to me? It goes to
show.
Having nothing to do I thought I would waste my time (and probably
yours too) with a letter ((See Bob Shaw’s opening remark… why don’t
you keep ’em working, Walt?)), and the first thing that comes naturally
to mind is that Chuck Harris doesn’t believe that I live in a house
numbered 33,333 – presumably because he thinks WE Bangorians cuddent
have numbers that big if they don’t have them in London (and don’t
I wish I was there now?), but you can tell him that all letters
addressed to me at 3,333,333 Lancaster Ave. will find me, as I occupy
half the houses on one side of the street, or perhaps Chuck wants
to start another feud with another Irishman, though I wouldn’t fight
with him since he was the only fan-type to appreciate my contributions
to SLANT altho’ he has probably forgotten all about it now, as have
(I hope) all other intelligent fans. ((Was that the way the stamps
were stuck on?))
Did anyone mention the acid-nourished grass to you yet?* I
did not know if it was a slip or not, so I planted some seed in
a window-box, and when the delicate green shoots appeared I tried
sprinkling them twice a day with hydrochloric. It seemed, however,
to exercise a depressing effect, so the third day I switched to
nitric, with even more gloomy effect, so I changed again to sulphuric,
but I don’t know the results of this as I had to stop after two
days to let the men fit the new window-sill and buy a new box. I’m
no horticulturist anyway.
((We have a dim recollection of your querying someone’s statement
that grass grew better in acid soil. Doubtless you’ll be hearing
from pro-horticulturist Paul Enever… providing they can revive him.))
CHARTERS P.S. “Would a Spanish spaceship have automatic or manuel
controls?”
********
WE ASKED PAUL SOWERBY, EDITOR OF THE DORMANT ‘ASTRONEER’, FOR
AN ACCOUNT OF THE MANCON (the Manchester Convention) HELD IN OCTOBER;
PAUL ENTHUSIASTICALLY COMPLIED WITH ABOUT 5000 HANDWRITTEN WORDS
... THAT IS, ABOUT 5 PAGES OF THIS SIZE. NOT HAVING THE MICROSCOPIC
FORMAT OF O.F.’s NEWSLETTER, WE’VE EDITED IT… HEAVILY. SORRY, PAUL.
DOES ANYONE WANT ANY BLUE-PENCIL STUBS?
********
MANCON COMMENTARY by PAUL SOWERBY
“…….I was wandering around chatting to old acquaintances, giving
a hand here and there with various stalls, when a good-looking be-spectacled
man in a blue suit arrived. A glance at his label informed me that
he was Harry Turner, former NW and TOW artist, whose best work,
however, was featured in his early-war-time fanzine ZENITH, and
was really good. I had tried to get in touch with him to lure him
back to fandom a fortnight before without success, and so was pleased
to see that the MANCON publicity had reached him after all. ((ZENITH,
the ’zine with the best art-work of any duplicated effort that we’ve
seen, is being revived by Harry Turner in co-operation with Derek
Pickles… date of first issue uncertain)) He was accompanied by another
fantasy artist, John White, who also amuses himself with half-stories.
Unfortunately, they are first halves, like mine, so a fleeting hope
of a coalition fell to the ground. Hasn’t anybody got any second-halves?
((Free advert.))
A little after twelve ((noon)), though people were still arriving
and some things weren’t quite ready, Dave Cohen took the stage,
struggled with the mike, and gave warning that the Con was about
to commence. Everybody – except those leaning on the bar – having
taken seats, he announced Frank Simpson’s talk on ‘Alien Life Forms’.
Frank gave the names of several French scientific
journals as references, proceeded with detailed descriptions
of a French scientist’s experiments on the tolerance
of extreme conditions by terrestrial life, concluding
by giving said scientist’s conjectures on the nature
of Plutonian life… a roughly cylindrical creature, about
1000 miles in diameter (of necessity due to its metabolism),
the greater part of the bulk being the vacuum of space,
and the metabolism being based on the continued creation
of matter in space.
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And we all sat there and lapped it up… even I! I beat my head
against the wall, I tear my hair. I must have been day-dreaming…
because the whole thing was one glorious spoof! Dave told us at
dinner, and it ruined our digestion…..
The next item was TWENTY QUESTIONS, between the Liverpool Group
and the NSFC, which was ended by dinner. We found a meal in a little
cafe 300 yds down the road; my table was composed of the Liverpool
group, one Bradfordian, and self. We had quite a pleasant discussion
on – you miss your guess – philately! All my fault, really, through
asking Norman Shorrock why he’d used Edward VIII stamps on a packet
to me; answer – they are valued in bulk below face value! ((To hard-up
fans; we understand ‘bulk’ means BULK... thousands.))
The afternoon sessions began with Mike Rosenblum giving a talk
on ‘Fandom’, This being rather a large topic he settled on a general
history, with emphasis on the war years. When the time came to answer
questions, he asked Derek Pickles and Eric Bentcliffe to give a
hand; this was a piece of good strategy, as a good many of the questions
were on the subject of OF and its origin, altho’ several were directed
at Mike concerning the old British Fantasy Society. The inquisition
was quite lively, and was certainly of interest to those newer fen
who hadn’t the opportunity of becoming acquainted with the history
and progress (?) of British fandom since the thirties.
The next speaker was the guest celebrity, ‘Vargo Statten’. John
Russell Fearn ascended the stage, and those unkind people who’d
brought along last year’s groceries, brickbats and guided missiles
hitched themselves up on their seats…….
Mr. Fearn is a very dark-skinned (come to Sunny Blackpool!),
dark-haired gent., with heavy-rimmed spectacles and an exceedingly
cheerful and infectious smile. He commenced by saying that the name
of ‘Vargo Statten’ horrified him as much as it did fandom, but it
had been forced upon him when he started to work for Scion. He then
proceeded to exonerate himself from other crimes of which he’d been
accused ... ‘Trembling World’, for example, was the only work he
had done under the name of ‘Astron del Martia’; all his other pseudonyms
were ones that could conceivably belong to human beings, and indeed,
he admitted a preference to using his own name for stories he didn’t
feel like blushing at.
In his earlier days, he pointed out the possession of a bad habit
– ‘Liners of Time’ (Amazing '35?) is a case in point – of tossing
away two or three plots in one story. Nowadays, with plots running
shorter, he preferred to get two or three stories out of one plot
and variations before throwing it away. ((Who doesn’t?)) Unfortunately,
since the publishers insisted on the Earth being destroyed practically
every alternate novel, this plot was wearing a little thin and he
spent most of his spare time trying to think of new ways of annihilating
poor old Terra! Every day the possibilities for eliminating the
human race were reducing as they were used up, and Mr. Fearn made
an appeal to all present that if they knew of any previously unconceived
method of global catastrophe which they were not contemplating using,
to let him know of it!
In answer to charges of plagiarism, Fearn cheerfully admitted
that they were not unfounded, but… “what is plagiarism?” He indicated
that since practically every plot in literature had been at least
duplicated, it was hard to describe the re-use of any of them with
variations as 'plagiarism'.
A roar of applause accompanied Fearn as he left the stage, his
popularity bouncing off the Heaviside layer. All around me I could
hear people vowing never to make cracks about 'Statten' again, and
Fearn was certainly the hero of the hour.
The next speaker was John Brunner, who spent but little of his
time on himself and his literary career ((ah, an imposter!)), devoting
most of it to the history and tribulations of NEBULA, with which
and with whose editor he had considerable acquaintance. Having explained
the difficulties which Peter had encountered in obtaining a distributor,
John concluded by requesting that this set-back be countered by
the complete sale of the NEBs he had brought to the Con. Having
answered a few questions on Neb. And himself, John retired, and
the next item '1966 And All That' was announced.
This was a playlet by Frank Simpson, amusing and well conceived,
most of it being a 'radio-feature broadcast' from an artificial
satellite and a space-ship; unfortunately, a tape-recorder used
to simulate a radio hadn’t enough amplification, but it went over
fairly well and the sound-effects were excellent. When the play
had finished, Eric gave a squawk of "shut it off!” and dashed
to the recorder - someone had switched it on again and Eric’s dulcet
(?) tones were coming over, crooning something about ‘Red Sands
of Mars’. Thank heavens he turned it off - my voice was on the tape
too. And it was horrible!
The next item was ‘Fantasy Charades’, and while it was being
explained to the opposing teams, there came an interruption. This
was it… The Thing!... The Man From Planet X!... or somewhere! Clad
in a dun-coloured space-suit with a semi-transparent visor, the
figure marched down the hall to the stage, knocking down chairs
and hapless fen as he went, and attempted to assassinate Eric B.
with a ray-gun, failed, and beat a leisurely retreat. ((This ghost
guest was later revealed as Bill Jessup of Manchester)) He put paid
to the Fantasy Charades though; the powers-that-be decided on an
auction instead, and this in turn was interrupted by Dave Cohen
with the wildly popular item of the Tea Buffet.
I should explain here that a number of items were left out of
the official programme through lack of time; the MANCON awards were
not made because public opinion which was to act as judge wasn’t
forthcoming, and the ‘Design Your Own Spaceship’ wasn’t judged as
only two entries were received. Both were excellent, and looked
fine on the walls of the Con Hall. After tea-break, Derek Pickles
acted as auctioneer, and due either to Derek’s spiel or the meal,
bidding was more lively; however, there was such a vast quantity
of books and ’zines to get rid of that everyone wearied, and the
affair had to close with a good many unsold. Another informal session
terminated with the placing of Eric Jones and Terry Jeeves on the
spot by making them decide with whom they would like to be marooned
on an asteroid. Terry started with 4 Bergey girls, but thot that
a few authors who could produce stupendous gadgets like rabbits
out of a hat would prove useful, and he made a selection, G. O.
Smith pre-eminent among them. By the time he had only one Bergey
girl left he decided that the others would be jealous, so he swapped
her for another author. Eric had unfortunately prepared his talk
... yerse, that’s right, it was in his drawer at home. He struggled
thru’ with a selection of handy s-f characters, pinching one of
Jeeves’s authors to act as foreman!
It was quite dark by this time, and Fearn fixed up his projector.
First a film on the A bomb, then Fearn’s own (silent) ‘Black Saturday’,
based on his story ‘Blackout’ in Science-Fantasy 2; the Solar system
passes through a space-warp which inhibits the transmission of electro-magnetic
waves, and the film showed the effects on various people, including
the crew of the first interplanetary ship.
The funny thing is ... after the film, nearly everybody went.
Just like that. Well, you can’t have a Con. with nobody, so we all
started to pack up. It was only 9.30 too. Conversations went on
while the Hall was being cleared, but soon there was nothing left
to read or do, so we… all… went… home. We were dead tired, but Eric
Jones and I were still talking at midnight….
((Sorry we could only include the highlights, but you get the
idea, we hope. There were some adverse comments in Northern circles
re. lack of support from the South, & specifically London, for
the MANCON, but the subject of future Cons is under discussion.
There’s certainly a lack of unity amongst fan groups which we hope
’zines such as this will supply. But, Northerners…. make ’em 2
day Conventions, pulleeease!))
From CHUCK O’HARRIS, ‘Carolin’, Lake Avenue, Rainham, ESSEX;–
I just bet that if I could only find your last letter I could
knock out a reply that would have you rolling in your private aisle.
I carefully filed the darned thing in my ‘Letters to be Answered’
file (behind the clock on the mantelpiece), but the woman who cleans
up the jernt (my mother) has found a new place for it and forgotten
to tell me about it. I suppose it was either shift the heap of unanswered
mail or re-inforce the mantle with a couple of iron stanchions.
However, before I become all affectionate towards you, I would
like to point out that D-rty Wh-te not only obtained more space
than I did in the last SFN but also persuaded you to
refer to me as ‘harris’. I shall remember this, Clarke. I suppose
you spent the thirty pieces of silver on paper for ‘CONTOUR’?
And I was foolish enough to think you my friend. Never again
will I write letters to Hamilton's praising your vile sex-ridden
pocket books. I’d even cancel your HYPHEN sub. if I had the nerve
- and a better duper than yours to run off the next issue on.
In future, remember that we Big Names are not lightly flouted
– whatever that means. And besides, nobody ever seems to get mine
correct. F’rinstance, Elsberry calls me ‘Frank Horres', you call
me C. F. Harriss and a certain Irish nonentity refers to me as '@&%£%¾$&£%’.
I did think that I’d reached the pinnacle the other day when Derek
Pickles called me “DEAR SIR”. Alas, after I’d read a little further
I found that this unfannish politeness was due solely to the fact
that my N3F sub. had expired (whilst the Federation merely sleeps)
and that if I wanted to remain a member in good standing I’d better
find seven and six immediately or sooner. Please don’t spread this
around fandom (I don’t mind both the SFN subbers knowing though),
but I am no longer in the N3F. Another s-c-o-o-p for SFN!
I’m glad to see that SFN is improving. After noting the minor
typoes in my letter I went on to read some of the less interesting
parts of the mag…..
Flush! I have just found your letter. A damn silly place to leave
it. This type of paper isn’t at all suitable…..
*****((And just when we thot Mr. Horrors was going to comment
on SFN! Oh well, we’ll publish a complete edition of his letters
some day… if we can find a French firm willing to take the risk.))
This is a lotta fun ... we could go on and on quoting from the
marvellous letters we receive, but it just won’t do ... that odour
isn’t the drains ... it’s our deadline decomposing. So to those
who haven’t had their letters printed here, and that especially
includes Ken Slater, the Liverpool boys (John Roles, Norman Shorrock,
and Dave Gardener), and Bert Barton of 40, Regent Road, Handsworth,
Brum. 21, who is founder member of the Birmingham S-F Group, our
profuse apologies ... or they would be profuse if there was enough
space.
If you like this kind of ’zine, let us know… it’s a lot easier
than gathering, condensing and reporting news! See you at the CORONVENTION….
unless Chuck Harris sees me first.
SCOTTISH AND YORKSHIRE TRANSLATIONS OF POST WAR AVAILABLE
ON REQUEST.
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