A week in Ventnor - July 1972

Sometimes comic memories stick in the mind because they’re linked to seminal events in your life.

In the summer of 1972 I had just turned 13, and so I was allowed to go on my first holiday on my own, to Ventnor on the south side of the Isle of Wight to stay with my Aunt and Uncle for a week.

I went with high hopes of getting more comics at Mr Keen’s antiquarian bookshop in Pier Street, Ventnor. Earlier that year  on a holiday with my Mum and Dad - at Easter -  I had hit the jackpot with scoring a pile of comics in Mr Keen’s antiquarian bookshop in Ventnor at 2p each, including a run of most of Detective 390-412- which included those classic Denny O’Neil/Neal Adams Man-Bat stories plus the Enemy Ace crossover. (For those you wishing to take a look at Google street view , the address is 19 Pier Street, Ventnor. Mr Keen is long gone, of course, owning the shop from 1972-1981.)

Each day that week  in July I would walk down from Upper Ventnor to the town centre in the hopes of finding new comics in John Menzies or at one of the seafront gift shops.

Even though it was Summer, I felt compelled to wear my over-sized army-surplus combat jacket which had come from Ben Grubbs, a store in Portsmouth. I felt it lent me an air of rugged individuality.

My Aunt and Uncle’s daughter, my cousin, who was four years older than me at seventeen, welcomed me to tag along with her, her boyfriend and their friends. Her boyfriend (“call me Zak”) was an amiable bearded long-haired groovy guy with a penchant for check jackets with wide lapels.  I felt honored to be allowed to hang out with them (no doubt at the behest of my aunt).

The Regal, Shanklin, 1972

The week kicked off on a Sunday night with a trip to Shanklin to see Diamonds are Forever at the Regal cinema in Shanklin. We went in a van driven by a friend of my cousin. I think there were five of us siting on a mattress on the floor in the back, as we rattled around inside the rear of the van. (I have an inkling that the driver - a curly-haired, more conventional, friendly guy inclined to a rosy complexion - had a crush on my cousin.)

What a film! This was my first exposure to Sean Connery as Bond (having previously seen OHMSS in 1969), and the early scene where he is trapped in a coffin inside a crematorium incinerator sticks in my mind. I also took notice of the film poster (by the great Robert McGinnis), realizing how the common motif of Bond with his arms folded had become connecting tissue across all the Bond film posters.

As I went to bed that night at my Aunt’s house (I was staying in the room vacated by my cousin’s older brother who was away) I became aware that a paperback book had fallen on the floor from where it had been tucked under the mattress. It was a bit of an eye-opener for. 13-year old.

That book was The Perfumed Garden (Panther Edition,1966), a translation of an ancient Indian sex manual by Sir Richard Burton, famed Arabist, polymath and explorer. I would a few years later re-encounter Sir Richard Burton as the fictional protagonist in Philip Jose Farmer’s book To Your Scattered Bodies Go. Well, those Indians knew a thing or two about human gymnastics that wouldn’t end up an an Olympic sport , and I reflected that learning a different language at school may have had applications I had not previously appreciated. 

The Silvermere Cafe gift shop where I found Detective #355

The next day I decided to walk down to the seafront, and on the spinner rack of a gift shop I found an excellent condition copy of Detective #355  (“Hate of the Hooded Hangman”).What a find! Six years after publication and not a crease! It felt almost as good as if I’d found Detective #27! I can remember the crispness of it now (presumably sun-baked over the previous 6 summers, even though there was no evidence of direct sunlight fading)

The Rex Cinema, Ventnor

As the week was coming to a close, hormones raging, I persuaded my Aunt to take me to see Up The Front at the Rex Cinema on Thursday. I was a great fan of the Carry On films at this time, and figured that this would probably be a bit risqué, with Frankie Howard ably supported by the ample charms of Madeline Smith. I was not disappointed, although I think that my Aunt had some misgivings that she was culpable in exposing her nephew to something so salacious (well it was “A” rated).

So at the end of the week I returned home with the experience of having moved in a maturer circles of friends, had some education that garden swings had more uses that previously envisaged, had seen an exciting Bond film with a fantastic poster by Robert McGinnis, had seen Madeline Smith in fine form on the silver screen, and had an immaculate copy of Detective #355 safely stored in my haversack.

Shanklin - the Isle of Wight ferry

As I crossed the Solent back to Portsmouth on the Isle of Wight ferry "Shanklin", waiting for me back in Pompey was the prospect of the new DCs hitting the spinner rack on the following Thursday.

What a summer! Golden Days indeed.