THE FLOATING FANROOM

by Irwin Hirsh

(First published in Ornithopter MK. VB, March 2025, edited by Leigh Edmonds)

The Worldcon may have finished but there were enough fans hanging around London in the days after that it felt like the Fan Room had been evicted from the Metropole and the committee were trying out a number of new sites. During the days we were left to ourselves, but there was a heavy-duty evening programme.

Wendy and I began our time by travelling to Kensington, wandering the streets from the Albert Memorial down through to Cromwell Road, were we found ourselves at an intersection of choice. Do we spend the afternoon in the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Science Museum, or the Natural History Museum? In deference to Rodney, our 5 year old nephew, and his love of dinosaurs, we went for the latter. We made a mistake by only allowing ourselves two hours there, when a full day would've been appropriate. When we sent Rodney a postcard telling him about the excellent Dinosaur exhibits we didn’t tell a lie.

After the Museum we rendezvoused with Eve and John Harvey, had a Mexican meal, wandered through Covent Garden Market - once a spot were fruit and vegetable wholesalers would sell their wares, but now an array of cafes and boutique shops - and down to the Waterloo Bridge. As we crossed over the Thames Eve and John pointed out various sights, and just about when there were no more sights in view we were at a pub. And this pub – the Wellington - was a point that intersected with 40 years of fannish history, the London First Thursday meets.

It was an evening full of Conspiracy reviews, and reunions, and Jim Barker and Wendy Hirsh Skippy impersonations/im-kangaroo-ations. And meeting people missed at the convention. John Brosnan introduced himself, telling me he was expecting to be deported back to Australia. He didn’t tell me why but we wondered if this could be timed to coincide with the Bicentennial of the first British-deportees to land on Australian soil.

Jimmy Robertson, Anne Hamill, and I fell into a discussion about aspects of mutual connections: Jimmy having worked at Australia House, their plans for a visit to Australia, and their experience of living in Golders Green and learning things from the Jewish population there. This triggered a thought that maybe my father had once lived in Golders Green. In 1937, when my father was six years old, my grandparents had decided to leave Poland, and en-route to Australia spent a few months living in London. It’s where my father learnt to speak English, and while he has an Australian accent there are occasional words that have a London-lilt to them. Back in Australia I followed up on this, but my father couldn’t recall where in London where they lived.

Robert Holdstock and I were introduced to each other. Asked about his convention he told us he’d had an excellent time, but at that particular moment it was bad time that was in the memory. “One evening I went to bed after 4.00, and was on a panel at 11:00. It was about landscape, and I wasn't worried about the lack of sleep. But the first question was along the lines of Landscape as Hero. It was all so heavy.”

Near the end of the meet we encountered a major worry of Londoners, catching the Last Train. Normally Eve and John would meet at the appropriate time, and wander to the local train station and all would be sweet. This time Eve had to herd together a household of five visiting Aussies, and John, and get us to actually stay in that one designated spot near the door. “What Eve needs is a Dusty,” I thought to myself. My job immediately before the GUFF trip was working on “Dusty”, a tv mini-series about a sheepdog.

We were finally been herded together in one place and are walking out of the pub. Just past the main door were two people. I whispered to Wendy to turn around as the person on the right is Harry Bond. Earlier in the year I’d received a fanzine from Harry, parts of which Wendy also read. There was a line in it which she liked (yes, only one line: “The name’s Bond, Harry Bond.”) At and after Conspiracy whenever someone mentioned Harry Wendy would say how she would like to have met him and would ask for a description of him.

In pointing Harry out to Wendy I meant for her just to get a picture of the person, for future reference. Instead she starts walking back towards him, to say hi. So I'm walking forward but looking behind me and trying to get grab Wendy so as not delay getting to our train. And therefore I didn't see that strategically placed large pot plant. I walked straight into it, went ‘arse-over-teakettle’ (as Bond later described it.) Just what our in-a-rush group needed, someone with a newly acquired sore shin.

We made the train. Just.

The next day's day-trip was a visit to London Zoo. Wendy and I figured that it would provide an appropriate sequel to our visit to the non-dinosaur parts of the Natural History Museum. John Harvey, being employed by his own company, made an executive decision that a day at the zoo had enormous business potential, and away we went. By British Rail to Victoria Station, by Underground to Regent's Park, and by exercising our legs, and testing the recovery of my newly acquired sore shin, through the Park to the Zoo, all enlivened by chit-chat.

The first part of the zoo we visited was the aquarium where we discovered that Wendy and I had come all this way to see an Australian Lungfish, named, get this, Bruce. Also in the aquarium I heard a little girl maintain one of life's little oddities: she wanted to see a silverfish. My overall impression of the Zoo is that it is too small for the number of animals it houses. There was a section of the aquarium that houses an eel. The problem was that the eel was as long as the enclosure was at its widest point.

Back at the Harvey Hotel For Aussies we exchanged traveller's tales with the fellow residents, had a tasty chicken dinner and got ready for the evening's activities - a party at Alun Harries's place. John didn't feel like driving over, or more to the point was worried about latter on driving back home. So he set about working out how else to get to Alun's place, muttering something about making the call to find out what time the train left. As he went to get the telephone book Eve, who was in the next room, screamed out. "It's Sutton, look under B."

"The B must be silent" Wendy said, "like the B in lamb."

"... and the g in gnat," someone added.

"... and the k in knife,"

Just as another example was going to be tossed into the atmosphere a frustrated voice in the next room chimed in with "B for British Rail, you buggers."

This exchange proved to be a great help to John, as we drove over.

Sure enough, Alun's place was in Sutton, just as Eve had said it would be.

I spent time talking to Dai Price about various football codes, soccer, rugby, Aussie Rules. I told him that the following day I’m going to the West Ham v Liverpool match. “I would’ve gone to any First Division game. But when I saw that my team – Liverpool - was playing in London this weekend, that decided it for me.”

“You’ll most probably be in the home team section of the crowd” Dai told me. “Don’t let on that you support the other team.” This lead to a shift in our discussion, from the game itself to the crowd that watched; I mentioned that hooliganism is largely an alien thing at Aussie Rules game, so there was very little need to separate the two teams’ fans at a ground.

Scott Custis told me that he's been trying to convince Wendy that the two of them should put out their own fanzine describing what it was like travelling around with "Big Name Fans like you and Jeanne [Gomoll]."

"I'm not a Big Name Fan."

"But you won GUFF."

"But I'm not a Big Name Fan," I repeated just as Jeanne walked up and joined in the conversation.

"But you won GUFF," she said.

"That doesn't make me into a Big Name Fan. After all, there's only ten letters in my name." I explained.

Soon we were tossing up fans' names, big and small. For some reason with biggest laugh came when someone said the words "Ted White."

Just then Patrick Nielsen Hayden came out from the front room to ask me if all Aussies speak with kiddie lingo?

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, like Perry, and things like 'kangaroos in the top paddock.'"

I explained that’s largely Perry, who has a number of dictionaries of Aussie slang, and for this trip he’s been putting in a special effort to build up a bank of those phrases.

We all watched as Patrick, satisfied with my answer and presumably going back for more kiddie lingo, wandered back to the front room. When he was out of sight one of us indicated to the door, "Twenty letters?"

"Something like that."

The following day Perry and I travelled to Victoria Station, met up with Justin Ackroyd and Mike Dickenson, and went on to Upton Park Station. We walked along the main road, turned a corner and before us was a football stadium. At the entrance a police officer asked Perry about his bag. "Any cans in there, Gov?" It was reassuring to have an English copper refer to someone as “Gov.”

As Dai had predicted we took up a spot among the West Ham fans in the standing terraces behind the Northern-end goal. And soon after I acquired a sense of how the environment raises the heat among the fans. In the standing room terraces there was a sardine-cramming that doesn’t exist at Aussie Rules games, and it was hard to get an unobstructed view of the whole field.

Before the start of the game it started raining, so much that it reduced the quality of the game. The half-time score was Nil-all, but Liverpool looked the better team. More chances at goal, and more playing as a team, with set patterns and passing. West Ham players tended to just kick the ball widely. Early in the second half Liverpool improved on their co-ordinated play of the first half, and were gaining control of the game. When they had a sequence of 5 or 6 fairly easy passes in front of goal, looking for a gap in the defence I said to myself, "This is it, there’ll be a goal." A moment later a Liverpool player was brought down in the penalty box. The referee pointed to the penalty spot, with no dispute from the Hammer players. One - nil to Liverpool.

This spurred the Hammer players, and they scored an equaliser about 20 minutes later. I didn’t see this goal, due to the obstruction caused by those in front of me, but felt the wave as the crowd around us going crazy. Perry bore the brunt of a particularly excited fan, who was excitedly jumping around, including into Perry’s back and onto his neck.

At the end of the match Mike bade his farewell, and us three Aussies went with the flow towards Upton Park Station. Near the station we bumped into Avedon Carol, Moshe Feder, and Lise Eisenberg, who, like us, were journeying to a party at the Harveys’ Hotel For Aussies. They weren’t pleased to have timed their travel to clash with 30,000 soccer fans. Looking at the crowd ahead of us Avedon said it would be a couple of hours before we even get close to a train, and suggested we walk back to East Ham Station, one station up the line. It was marvellous idea. A twenty minute walk that saved us quite a wait, and it ensured that we each got a seat for the long trip to Victoria Station.

At one stage during the journey Lise looked around, saw Avedon, Justin, and I and exclaimed “I’m sitting here surrounded by fan fund winners.” I offered for us to move to another part of the carriage, and then suggested that if Lise felt uncomfortable she could rectify the matter by running for a fan fund herself.

“Well,” Lise demurred, “I’ve been to Australia and Britain, so I’m not sure that....” But I interrupted her. “There’s always SEFF.” I didn’t get a good look in response.

At the party I was talking to Patrick Nielsen Hayden about his concerns about Aussie fanzines. "Any interest we have comes from people like Jerry Kaufman and Lucy Huntzinger, and not from your fanzines,” he told me. “There's no sense of exaggerated personality. I mean next time Jean Weber gets drunk on that ghastly Bundaburg Rum, tell us that she got totally bloto and broke the bottle over Eric Lindsay's head. You know..."

Elsewhere in the house Martin Tudor discovered that he wouldn’t find Wendy and myself in such a description. Wendy doesn’t drink and when she told him that she’s never seen me drunk Martin expressed amazement, concern and shock.

The party continued the theme of Conspiracy review and introduced the topic of Post-con activity descriptions. Simba Blood told us about a short trip she’d been on post-con, and Joseph Nicholas provided a review of Rob Hanson’s history of British fandom “The Story So Far”. And Linda Pickersgill suggested that 'Hi, how would you like a lobotomy?' would be a great opening line.

The Last Train call went out, which severely thinned out the crowd. But it didn’t kill the party. Largely we spent our time watching John Jarrold take control of the CD player and lead an air guitar concert. Over on the side Patrick Nielsen Hayden did his best to orchestrate the musicians, by providing the required chords changes "B minor ... E flat ..." By about ‘half-three’ the last of the crowd had either called for a taxi or found a ‘couch-surfing’ spot.

The next morning I was woken up with a knock on the door and before I respond Tony Berry was walking into our room. "What do you want?" I asked.

"Looking for bodies," Tony said as he scanned the room. He walked out the door and I heard him continue his body search in another room.

“Bodies! What bodies?” I thought, trying to make sense of his reply. (“Perhaps it was an out of body experience,” Greg Pickersgill would later say. “He was looking for his own body.”) With enough people in the house and having the same experience the scenerio created a minor talking point around British fandom, and a couple of times in our travels we’d be asked “Is it true that Tony Berry…?”

And to have those travels we had to have a mode of transport and the day’s main activity was picking up our hire car. That evening we took Eve and John out for a meal, and the next morning we commenced our travel West.