That First Hammer Moment
by Anthony Keetch
First published in Dark Terrors Issue 16
Shiver & Shake started me off during mumps-ridden March 1973. A weekly comic in two parts, the Shiver section specialised in spooky but U-cert strips, usually involving Elizabethan ghosts with heads under their arms; Webster the sentient tarantula with his altruistic web-spinning skills; and Frankie Stein, a destructive but lovable bolt-necked monster forever causing grief for his creator, Professor Cube. I adored Shiver & Shake and it was added to my roster of comics delivered on Saturday morning.
Then one day in my local sweet shop, I bought some bubble gum. Not my favourite confection because of its tendency to taste and feel like a used condom within thirty seconds, this particular brand had some very Shiver-esque ghosts and monsters on the wrapping. Inside were several picture cards, each with a photo from an old horror movie rounded off with an hilarious (to my nine-year-old humour) caption. I can't remember any of these Wildean shafts of wit, but they were probably about the Wolf Man needing a shave, or indeed, the Mummy cutting himself shaving. Sadly these cards have evaporated, Dracula-like, into the atmosphere, no doubt thrown away by my mother, which is the sort of thing mothers were put on this planet to do. I discovered from examining the backs of the cards in detail (enjoying further Crackerjack-style jokes about vampires visiting blood banks etc.) that all these pictures were from films made about a hundred years ago by Universal Pictures.
Thereupon I was hooked on horror, and like a vampire at a freshly-perforated throat, I lapped up all I could on the subject of horror movies; I learned that Frankenstein was the name of the scientist and not the monster; that vampires could only enter a house if invited, and that once you'd starred in a horror movie it was illegal to be cast in anything else.
But the only horror film I had ever actually seen was The Creature from the Black Lagoon, unless you counted Carry on Screaming, which, as the Oddbods has scared the tripes out of me, I did. Then, to my joy, LWT started a season of horror films late on Friday nights. Now I was only round the ten years old mark at the time, but my mother was rather liberal about bedtime ,especially at the weekend. Put a child to bed too early, she'd claim, and the little bugger will get up too early. So, with the minimum of persuasion (re-negotiable however each week), I'd be allowed to stay up - but only if I promised to go to bed the minute I felt sleepy. Yes, mum, right. Two big sisters who also wanted to see the film helped sway the argument in my favour.
The first film in the season? Revenge of Frankenstein! Yes! This was what it was all about! Peter Cushing, whom I knew from the Dr Who movies, was menacing, but the hero too. Confusing, but OK, and his assistant sounded a bit like Captain Scarlet which was also all right by me. As for the monkey which started eating meat, and the hunchback who had his brain slurped into another body and then turned back into a hunchback - well, poignant and scary or what? That Friday night, Hammer Films and I scratched each other's names in blood and swore undying love.
The rest of the film season didn't disappoint, apart from the narcolepsy-fest Dr Blood's Coffin, about a mad scientist who indulged in the revolting but ludicrous practice of heart transplants, I seem to recall. But the other films...! Die Monster Die! Curse of the Crimson Altar! A few weeks into the season, however, something arrived that surpassed them all, even my beloved Revenge of Frankenstein.
Dracula has Risen From the Grave!
Cool title, cool film. Nowadays I know that certain Hammer afficionados mutter rather sniffily about this particular effort, but let me tell you; watch it when you're nine and a half and then deny it's the best film in the world.
Those mid-seventies years have Hammer smeared all over them. I remember going to the less stringently run newsagents and buying Monster Mag with its "for sale to adults only" tag - then being overcome with Catholic guilt about breaking the law. I can still recall aching with envy and frustration as each new Hammer product flaunted itself and its X certificate at the Northfields Odeon; Satanic Rites of Dracula, Frankenstein & the Monster from Hell, and the true object of my desire - Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires. Hammer and Kung Fu! In the same film! And that bloke from Bless This House! Honestly, what more could a boy in 1974 want? Well, Hammer City Records LP of Dracula starring Christopher Lee. My copy suspiciously developed a scratch while it was in its sleeve (explain that, big sister) which, during a creepy echoey footsteps section, gave the impression that Dracula had three legs.
Oh, and the joy when I watched This Is Your Life and Christopher Lee was the victim - for a change. The camaraderie and affection the Hammer family showed to each other and the fun they seemed to have. How I wanted to be an actor, and a Hammer contract player at that. But, sadly, I knew that it could never be. I'd be far too frightened near all those monsters,and I would cry and disgrace myself on set.
Hammer helped me earn money too. I wrote a letter to Whoopee!! comic, a sister title to Shiver & Shake, pleading for a photo of Christopher Lee as Dracula. They obliged, a remarkably bloodcurdling, albeit b&w, shot, and they presented me with a postal order for 50p too! My rejoicing was somewhat tempered when, a fortnight later, they raised the prize money for a published letter to £1. Bah!
Looking back, I realise that I was a child obsessed. In 1998 a similarly afflicted child would be whisked to a shrink and be able to blame all his misdemeanours on his or her being forced to watch these sick and degrading gothic spectacles. Hang on, I suppose I could still do that. Now where did I put that chainsaw?
by Anthony Keetch
First published in Dark Terrors Issue 16
Shiver & Shake started me off during mumps-ridden March 1973. A weekly comic in two parts, the Shiver section specialised in spooky but U-cert strips, usually involving Elizabethan ghosts with heads under their arms; Webster the sentient tarantula with his altruistic web-spinning skills; and Frankie Stein, a destructive but lovable bolt-necked monster forever causing grief for his creator, Professor Cube. I adored Shiver & Shake and it was added to my roster of comics delivered on Saturday morning.
Then one day in my local sweet shop, I bought some bubble gum. Not my favourite confection because of its tendency to taste and feel like a used condom within thirty seconds, this particular brand had some very Shiver-esque ghosts and monsters on the wrapping. Inside were several picture cards, each with a photo from an old horror movie rounded off with an hilarious (to my nine-year-old humour) caption. I can't remember any of these Wildean shafts of wit, but they were probably about the Wolf Man needing a shave, or indeed, the Mummy cutting himself shaving. Sadly these cards have evaporated, Dracula-like, into the atmosphere, no doubt thrown away by my mother, which is the sort of thing mothers were put on this planet to do. I discovered from examining the backs of the cards in detail (enjoying further Crackerjack-style jokes about vampires visiting blood banks etc.) that all these pictures were from films made about a hundred years ago by Universal Pictures.
Thereupon I was hooked on horror, and like a vampire at a freshly-perforated throat, I lapped up all I could on the subject of horror movies; I learned that Frankenstein was the name of the scientist and not the monster; that vampires could only enter a house if invited, and that once you'd starred in a horror movie it was illegal to be cast in anything else.
But the only horror film I had ever actually seen was The Creature from the Black Lagoon, unless you counted Carry on Screaming, which, as the Oddbods has scared the tripes out of me, I did. Then, to my joy, LWT started a season of horror films late on Friday nights. Now I was only round the ten years old mark at the time, but my mother was rather liberal about bedtime ,especially at the weekend. Put a child to bed too early, she'd claim, and the little bugger will get up too early. So, with the minimum of persuasion (re-negotiable however each week), I'd be allowed to stay up - but only if I promised to go to bed the minute I felt sleepy. Yes, mum, right. Two big sisters who also wanted to see the film helped sway the argument in my favour.
The first film in the season? Revenge of Frankenstein! Yes! This was what it was all about! Peter Cushing, whom I knew from the Dr Who movies, was menacing, but the hero too. Confusing, but OK, and his assistant sounded a bit like Captain Scarlet which was also all right by me. As for the monkey which started eating meat, and the hunchback who had his brain slurped into another body and then turned back into a hunchback - well, poignant and scary or what? That Friday night, Hammer Films and I scratched each other's names in blood and swore undying love.
The rest of the film season didn't disappoint, apart from the narcolepsy-fest Dr Blood's Coffin, about a mad scientist who indulged in the revolting but ludicrous practice of heart transplants, I seem to recall. But the other films...! Die Monster Die! Curse of the Crimson Altar! A few weeks into the season, however, something arrived that surpassed them all, even my beloved Revenge of Frankenstein.
Dracula has Risen From the Grave!
Cool title, cool film. Nowadays I know that certain Hammer afficionados mutter rather sniffily about this particular effort, but let me tell you; watch it when you're nine and a half and then deny it's the best film in the world.
Those mid-seventies years have Hammer smeared all over them. I remember going to the less stringently run newsagents and buying Monster Mag with its "for sale to adults only" tag - then being overcome with Catholic guilt about breaking the law. I can still recall aching with envy and frustration as each new Hammer product flaunted itself and its X certificate at the Northfields Odeon; Satanic Rites of Dracula, Frankenstein & the Monster from Hell, and the true object of my desire - Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires. Hammer and Kung Fu! In the same film! And that bloke from Bless This House! Honestly, what more could a boy in 1974 want? Well, Hammer City Records LP of Dracula starring Christopher Lee. My copy suspiciously developed a scratch while it was in its sleeve (explain that, big sister) which, during a creepy echoey footsteps section, gave the impression that Dracula had three legs.
Oh, and the joy when I watched This Is Your Life and Christopher Lee was the victim - for a change. The camaraderie and affection the Hammer family showed to each other and the fun they seemed to have. How I wanted to be an actor, and a Hammer contract player at that. But, sadly, I knew that it could never be. I'd be far too frightened near all those monsters,and I would cry and disgrace myself on set.
Hammer helped me earn money too. I wrote a letter to Whoopee!! comic, a sister title to Shiver & Shake, pleading for a photo of Christopher Lee as Dracula. They obliged, a remarkably bloodcurdling, albeit b&w, shot, and they presented me with a postal order for 50p too! My rejoicing was somewhat tempered when, a fortnight later, they raised the prize money for a published letter to £1. Bah!
Looking back, I realise that I was a child obsessed. In 1998 a similarly afflicted child would be whisked to a shrink and be able to blame all his misdemeanours on his or her being forced to watch these sick and degrading gothic spectacles. Hang on, I suppose I could still do that. Now where did I put that chainsaw?
