Kevin told me how when the original Eagle died, there were celebrations in IPC Magazines. And the Eagle’s creator – the Reverend Marcus Morris – had a glass-topped desk with an Eagle engraved on it. This was taken over as a proud trophy. A colleague on Eagle, comic writer Chad Varrah, founded the Samaritans and so there’s a reference to it below.
Pat.
Ron Punch’s office was an impressive Edwardian room with a fireplace, a green leather-topped desk, an antique clock, a drinks cabinet, bound volumes of past publishing successes, and photos from Ron’s time in the army and the office football team he joined after the war. The walls were stained yellow from decades of heavy smoking. The curtains were drawn, so sunlight couldn’t interfere while he watched the racing on TV. There was a glass top to the desk with a magnificent school shield and Latin motto engraved on it: Deo patriae litteris. ‘For God, country and learning.’
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Scattered across the ring-stained and grubby glass were racing papers, betting slips, pencil stubs, tumblers, an overloaded ashtray, a half empty bottle of Laphroaig (a Christmas gift from an art agent hustling for work), matchbooks from The Eight Veils and other clubs, and small change.
The office and its famous desk had once belonged to the editor of the legendary, but long gone, Homework magazine, the Reverend Julius Cambridge. The vicar had not only produced Homework, but established it as the template for a scholastic and sporting life, to help boys aspire to the highest positions in society. It was only sporting life where Ron and Julius had anything in common.
Julius’s zeal had not stopped there; he had also set up Cross Line, offering the comfort of the Lord to troubled souls. He had set up the phone helpline from this same office and still, very occasionally, calls came through to the original number. Ron was answering one as Dave entered.
‘Listen, a few beers and you’ll be right as rain. Or a fucking good shag, chum. That’ll sort you out.’ Ron beckoned to Dave to sit down and pour himself a whisky. ‘I know … I heard you, chum … you’ve opened the window and you’re going to step onto the ledge …’ Ron irritably raised his eyes and carried on giving advice. ‘But if you’re serious, mate, you don’t fucking talk about it, you do it. You just do it. If you’re going to jump, just fucking jump! Hello …? Hello …?’
Ron put the phone down and sighed. ‘What is the matter with people today, Dave?’
Dave shook his head sympathetically.
‘We didn’t have fucking helplines and fucking counsellors in the war. You just had to fucking get on with it. It didn’t do me no fucking harm.’
Ron poured himself a whisky and lit a cigarette. He had always got on much better with Dave than the traitorous Greg and the overly-ambitious Joy. Dave and he had an unspoken rapport. They had their differences it was true, but Ron was still one of Dave’s role models for failure and complacency. But now his protégé seemed to be changing, and this was why he had invited Dave to his office. Dave’s latest script for Aaagh! was lying on his desk. It was about a black footballer, a character Dave was particularly keen on.
‘Black Hammer … You can’t have a story about a black footballer, son.’
‘Why not, Ron?’
‘Well, you just can’t.’
‘Why not?
‘’Cos you might offend someone.’
‘Who? The National Front?’
‘Me. I am offended, Dave.’ The war veteran waved an offended finger. ‘The country’s being taken over by them, Dave.’ He pointed to the script. ‘And this is just encouraging them to come over here.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘No.’ Ron looked at Dave in all seriousness.
‘Well, if it is, so what?’ said Dave, surprisingly eager for confrontation.
Ron didn’t reply. He sipped his whisky and tried another approach as he flicked through the script. ‘You’ve got this scene here where there’s all this racist chanting from the terraces at … what’s his name?’
‘Ernie Gambo, the Black Hammer.’
‘Ernie … Gambo,’ Ron said, rolling his eyes. ‘That is just going to make trouble.’
‘It happened to the black striker, Clyde Best.’
‘But we can’t take sides, Dave,’ insisted Ron.
‘Yes we can,’ said Dave belligerently. ‘We should. That’s what Aaagh! is all about. It’s a comic of the streets.’
Ron said nothing. He was running out of cards. His authority was already undermined and his redundancy looming. He was yesterday’s man and he knew it. Frank Johnson, the publisher, had made it crystal clear he was not allowed to stop Dave’s youthful path of progress, only give him the benefit of his advice.
So he tried playing the reasonable card. ‘Look,’ he appealed to Dave. ‘I know things have got to change, son, but we need to do it gradually. Why not write a story about a white footballer with a young black friend who watches him from the terraces and learns from him?’
‘Like the Lone Ranger and Tonto?’ Dave looked incredulous.
‘Now that’s a winning formula,’ smiled Ron.
‘Or maybe King of the Khyber, where a native defends his beloved white master with a cricket bat?’ Dave put down his whisky. It was untouched.
‘Another great story,’ said Ron, oblivious to Dave’s sarcasm. ‘It’s introducing them to our traditions, our culture.’
Dave looked grimly at his one-time mentor. ‘Over my dead body, Ron,’ he said coldly. And he walked out.
Ron knocked back his whisky. The now powerless managing editor couldn’t believe his close ally had gone over to the other side. He sighed as he realised his time was almost up and the appalling Greg, with his camp manner and ever-changing outfits, was probably being groomed to take his place. He poured himself another whisky.
For some reason Black Hammer meant a lot to Dave, and he was going to make it happen, no matter what, even at the cost of his friendship with Ron. He had no idea why he felt so passionately about having a black footballer in the comic. Maybe it was connected with his parents’ time in Nigeria.
He was even writing the story himself, for free, because he was only paid when he wrote for other comics. Perhaps he was just being ‘ideologically sound’, although that would be a first.
No, there was something else driving him to write about a black hero, something he couldn’t quite get a grip on.
Serial Killer by Pat Mills & Kevin O’Neill is the first book in the Read Em And Weep series and is on sale digitally or as paperback.