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Fan Slants, v. 1, issue 1, September 1943

Page 19

FAN SLANTS....................................................19

[title in large rounded letters] ENGLAND INVADED 
by cpl gus willmorth

The fatal hour had arrived. With the chime of the gong sounding the end of the army working day on Saturday, the Orderly room door crashed shut behind me and I clambered aboard the Spirit. (Since arriving in the cloudy clime of the United King-dom ye author has acquired a bicycle, the English conception of locomotion. I do mean loco---[rest of sentence underlined] you run it yourself.) Equipped with toilet articles and four stf maga-zines, I dashed through the station gates, accompanied by the clamor of bells, horn and spinning wheels, charging forward to the meeting of an American fan with Anglo-fandom.

Arriving at last in the red-tiled city of Norwich, I placed by seventeen shill-ings on the line and stepped aboard the London train. Nothing spectacular happened between Norwich and London. As we sped over rolling English countryside, I remained immersed in the latest FFM. Dropping off the train at Liverpool station, (and nearly falling down the escalator to the underground), I began a hopeless search. Saturday night in the wartime London finds several hundred members of the U.S. armed forces seek-ing spots to lie down and take it easy until the blackout lifts. I arrived at 10:30 PM. At 2:00 AM a bed was finally secured after the failure of Underground, busses, and (almost) my weary legs.

After a fairly decent interval of comatose inactivity, I rose, shave in some ice water specially supplied to make American fighting men feel at home. After tea and sandwiches I darted into the subway to begin the journey to the Traffic Lights in Central Leatherhead, where members of the Cosmos Club were to gather. Wonder-ing my way through the underground maze, I arrived at Southern Railway Station with connections for Teddington, Leatherhead and other spots famed throughout fandom. A-gain I swept through brick dwellings, arriving at the little metropolis of Leather-head an hour early. Establishing myself under the aforementioned traffic lights, Planet Stories in hand for ready identification, I patiently awaited the arrival of the first contingent of English fandom.

Earliest arrivals were John Aiken, (see page 23---Ed.) Jean Murray, and a young-ish individual with a knife (which he later flourished with John Carter versatili-ty). Neither section of the International gathering recognised the other as being of that strange breed "fan", though at the time I held a Planet in my hand and was scanning the crowd with hot and burning eyes. Which might prove that my slan [b]lood [?] is getting weak, and I'll never be an esper. However, within ten minutes the others returned to the crossroads, and we greeted one another with prodigious cries. We grouped on a sunny store step and became acquainted, while I proudly displayed FFM, FA, and the Planet. Aiken, with Ackerman-ish gestures, whipped out a copy of Beyond from a brief case very reminiscent of the genus fanae.

As we talked, I scanned the faces before me. What did English fans look like? John Aiken reminded me quite strongly of a fine portraiture of future man on the co-ver of "Odd John". His hair is more abundant than in the pic, is whitish in color, and he has the same bulging forehead. The eyeglasses lend the illusion of those large round eyes, and lips and a chin more rounded than in the illustration. Jean Murray, the actress of the Cosmos Club, is slightly freckled with flying hair and a wide smile, is very alive and active. She darted through the pros and looked at the illustrations, commenting on Unknown's poor choice of art work, Finlay, et al.

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FAN SLANTS....................................................19 [title in large rounded letters] ENGLAND INVADED by cpl gus willmorth The fatal hour had arrived. With the chime of the gong sounding the end of the army working day on Saturday, the Orderly room door crashed shut behind me and I clambered aboard the Spirit. (Since arriving in the cloudy clime of the United King-dom ye author has acquired a bicycle, the English conception of locomotion. I do mean loco---[rest of sentence underlined] you run it yourself.) Equipped with toilet articles and four stf maga-zines, I dashed through the station gates, accompanied by the clamor of bells, horn and spinning wheels, charging forward to the meeting of an American fan with Anglo-fandom. Arriving at last in the red-tiled city of Norwich, I placed by seventeen shill-ings on the line and stepped aboard the London train. Nothing spectacular happened between Norwich and London. As we sped over rolling English countryside, I remained immersed in the latest FFM. Dropping off the train at Liverpool station, (and nearly falling down the escalator to the underground), I began a hopeless search. Saturday night in the wartime London finds several hundred members of the U.S. armed forces seek-ing spots to lie down and take it easy until the blackout lifts. I arrived at 10:30 PM. At 2:00 AM a bed was finally secured after the failure of Underground, busses, and (almost) my weary legs. After a fairly decent interval of comatose inactivity, I rose, shave in some ice water specially supplied to make American fighting men feel at home. After tea and sandwiches I darted into the subway to begin the journey to the Traffic Lights in Central Leatherhead, where members of the Cosmos Club were to gather. Wonder-ing my way through the underground maze, I arrived at Southern Railway Station with connections for Teddington, Leatherhead and other spots famed throughout fandom. A-gain I swept through brick dwellings, arriving at the little metropolis of Leather-head an hour early. Establishing myself under the aforementioned traffic lights, Planet Stories in hand for ready identification, I patiently awaited the arrival of the first contingent of English fandom. Earliest arrivals were John Aiken, (see page 23---Ed.) Jean Murray, and a young-ish individual with a knife (which he later flourished with John Carter versatili-ty). Neither section of the International gathering recognised the other as being of that strange breed "fan", though at the time I held a Planet in my hand and was scanning the crowd with hot and burning eyes. Which might prove that my slan [b]lood [?] is getting weak, and I'll never be an esper. However, within ten minutes the others returned to the crossroads, and we greeted one another with prodigious cries. We grouped on a sunny store step and became acquainted, while I proudly displayed FFM, FA, and the Planet. Aiken, with Ackerman-ish gestures, whipped out a copy of Beyond from a brief case very reminiscent of the genus fanae. As we talked, I scanned the faces before me. What did English fans look like? John Aiken reminded me quite strongly of a fine portraiture of future man on the co-ver of "Odd John". His hair is more abundant than in the pic, is whitish in color, and he has the same bulging forehead. The eyeglasses lend the illusion of those large round eyes, and lips and a chin more rounded than in the illustration. Jean Murray, the actress of the Cosmos Club, is slightly freckled with flying hair and a wide smile, is very alive and active. She darted through the pros and looked at the illustrations, commenting on Unknown's poor choice of art work, Finlay, et al.