The Lion in the Seventies – Part 1


Lion and Eagle. As an unreconstructed Eagle fan, even as one whose collection deliberately excludes the last two years and four months of its history, I cannot help but see that title as a tragedy. I received Eagle week by week from the first week of January 1964 until its last issue in the last week of April 1969, and I carried on with the merged comic for maybe another seven or eight weeks before ending my connection. I was growing out of comics anyway, I was getting football magazines weekly and monthly, I do not know if any other comics remained on my order. But Eagle was not recognisable as Eagle in any of this, and I did not wish to see more.
As for the host, there was a mass attempt to bring existing stories to a rapid, and in come cases, rushed conclusion. Some old favourites, and several new car-crashes came to an end: The Spider in the first category, the Captain Condor and Rory MacDuff reprints crashed, Andy’s Army, Wyatt Earp and The Mind Stealers were terminated.
In their place were a whole host of new series, all of them to the Lion born, and four transfers from the hapless Eagle, the most significant of which being Dan Dare, for whom the ‘Rogue Planet’ reprints had been cut to ribbons to allow the Pilot of the Future to start with a reprint of ‘Reign of the Robots’ to celebrate his new berth. Though celebrate was not the word: all the new setting did was to demonstrate just how integral the Hampson studio’s painted colour was to the art.
It was not long before faces were being touched up to render them more distinct for B&W and done pretty badly too.
Accompanying Dan was The Gladiators (drawn by Archie’s Ted Kearon), about six Gladiators from the Roman Arena who had escaped thanks to an old sorcerer, who had sent them 2,000 years forward in time, to the middle of World War 2, Lightning Stormm, about a wheelchair bound crime-fighting ex-racing driver, obviously inspired by TV’s Raymond Burr vehicle, Ironside, and The Waxer (with art by Reg Bunn), in which ex-cop Mike Martin tried to convince his old colleagues that sinister waxworks owner, Septimus Creech, was bringing waxworks to life to commit dastardly crimes.


Paddy Payne (going into reprints), Robot Archie, Zip Nolan and Carson’s Cubs all survived from Lion, as did Mowser. New series were Turville’s Touchstone, Gargan and Oddball Oates. The new mix was widespread and it would be some time before the value of these could be assessed. But in a single issue, what was Eagle was buried, deep and dead.
In traditional Lion manner, another new series turned up just four weeks into the merger, a one page cartoon with overtones of Charlie Drake’s sitcom, The Worker, in the form of Chester the Cheerful Chump. Like every such one-pager except the inescapable Mowser, this only appeared when they felt like it.
Frankly, I remember absolutely nothing about the other Eagle transfers, even though I was still reading the comic until the end. Discovering them now, as if anew, they are a mixed bunch. The Gladiators is actually quite entertaining. There’s is a pretty basic fish-out-of-water series, but the writer creates an authentic feel to the gladiators, their attitudes and their speech, that gives the story a strong underpinning.
The Waxer is cheerfully OTT on spookiness, but then if you have Reg Bunn as your artist, I suppose it’s only natural. The story premise is goofy and without Bunn it would probably be an ugly mess, but it’s atmospherics (and the fact that it is not as idiotic as The Spider, which it effectively replaced) sustained it in the first instance.
In contrast, Lightning Stormm is a real loser. It apparently ran in Eagle as Lightning Strikes Again. I don’t know how long it had been around but it was awful: ex-racing driver Dan Stormm, crippled and confined to a wheelchair, fights crime in the motor-racing game. The practically paraplegic Dan, sat ramrod still in his over-armoured Supercar of a wheelchair, was a ridiculous image and the strip no better.
The new series was a similar mix in quality. The best of these was Turville’s Touchstone, a comedy drama. Thomas Turville inherits the family mansion, which is dilapidated and badly run-down. There is a lost family fortune which ‘rascally’ Solicitor Crabtree is determined to get to first. Tom however is aided by his 16th Century alchemist ancestor Sylvester, possessor of the titular touchstone, who is not all that fazed by the difference between the world in which he was cursed and that in which Tom has awoken him.
Oddball Oates, as the title implied, was a straight comedy series. Albert Oates is a mild-mannered, scrawny, bespectacled botanist who has discovered a wonder herb which, when smoked and sniffed, gives him wonderful athletic powers. Oates, who prefers to wander around in a caravan, becomes the target of Dr Vulpex, who wants to kidnap him, learn the secret of the herb and turn his country into a sporting superpower. This was a straight comedy, with exaggerated, quasi-cartoonish art and all sorts of sporting feats.


It’s not steroids, but the story rests on a very dodgy basis that you couldn’t write today. In Carson’s Cubs, at one point, Arthur Braggart calls Herbert Snook a Coke-head. Given that Oddball Oates was getting his ‘powers’ by smoking a wonder herb, and getting one heck of a high off it, I start to wonder just what the writers might have been smoking themselves.
The last series, Gargan, was a bust. Gargan was a big Yeti-type monster from the Himalayas, gentle as a lamb but looking like a monster. He and his sherpa boy companion Rhurki are kidnapped to America by a crooked circus owner who intends to exhibit him as a monster. Cash Maddack has a hold over Rhurki because he steals the magic mirror belonging to the ancient Reega the Wise, who is immortal as long as the mirror isn’t broken.
The series never rises above the predictable and, even as a ‘monster’, Gargan looks too silly to be convincing.
Of the Lion stalwarts, Paddy Payne reverted to reprints, and Robot Archie to the jungle, although without overwhelmed and superstitious natives. Zip Nolan was the same as it always was, week in, week out, as was Mowser, but with the excuse of being reasonably amusing. Chester the Chump totalled only four appearances, and was not a great loss, or any loss at all.
There were a few Reg Bunn Zip Nolans along the way, one of which I definitely recognised. These had to be reprints, leaving me to suspect that Nolan’s stories were the same every week because they were literally the same, reprints from years of formula tales impossible to distinguish any longer.
As for Carson’s Cubs, this had now gone stale as indicated by the fact that the stories were no longer about the Cubs’ progress on the football field but about the distracting shenanigans that took place off. It was rather like the Nineties’ TV series, Playing the Field, about a woman’s football team: two series about the club and its fortunes, and then it collapsed into a soap opera about a group of women whose link happened to be being in a football team.
The new line-up was pretty much settled for the rest of the year, but Lightning Stormm was the first to crack, lasting only twelve issues before transforming into Tales from the Tracks, a series of weekly motor racing stories narrated by Dan Stormm, which got rid of the embarrassing crime-fighter-in-a-souped-up-wheelchair aspect. These were actually surprisingly decent, but the feature was pulled after 29 November, making way for Drive for your Life.

This was a pretty implausible motor-racing story. Count von Drakko’s cowardice on the track causes a massive pile-up, as attested to by six fellow-drivers, resulting in his banning from racing. Six years later, all six drivers are kidnapped to drive a private race track designed by the Count, who means to show them what being scared really is: the track is a vicious obstacle race with fatal traps designed to kill five of the drivers. Only the race winner will survive, and it’s obviously going to be the American, Rev Ryder, because he’s the one with the stupid hero’s name.
The Gladiators had already lost both Ted Kearon and his successor when, on 4 October, The Waxer’s series lost Reg Bunn, and renamed itself Palace of Villainy. However, Bunn was back in harness ten weeks later, for the series’ next phase, When Midnight Chimes, The Waxworks Walk, which has to be one of the most stupid titles in Lion‘s history.
Gargan was now rambling with no real direction and Rhukri just whined all the time. Archie’s time-travelling adventures were having less and less point, and now the pals found themselves in some undated near future period battling the Sludge, that old jelly-like monster from 1964.
These changes apart, the Lion and Eagle line-up occupied the last months of the Sixties, and held over until the end of January 1970, but once again it was time for a revamp, with stories and series coming to abrupt endings and a new round of features starting up.
To begin with, Eagle was gone: we were back to being Lion again, until the next swallowing up of a weaker rival. Dan Dare, whose reprinted adventure had been chopped down into an unnaturally short four page finale to make room, was all that remained. Turville’s Touchstone was renamed Spellbinder and acquired Reg Bunn on art, although the boring rascally Solicitor Crabtree was kept on. Carson’s Cubs started a new story in which they found themselves playing the Circus Wanderers, that is the stars of the Eagle series that didn’t get carried over into Lion. Zip Nolan was no different, Paddy Payne was still in reprints, Archie, Ted and Ken finally got back to the right time and place but, as telegraphed the previous week brought The Sludge with them, Oddball Oates went Rugby League and Dan Dare brought up the rear with an untitled reprint of The Phantom Fleet. The quality of Frank Hampson’s art still shone through, but it was a close run thing, and as the story went on, it stopped being close and more often than not turned into a travesty. And Mowser rolled on, but James the Butler was demoted from co-billing.

Four new series of mixed quality began. Stringbean and Hambone was a comedy thriller about two mismatched wrestlers teaming up to tag-wrestle, with the unknown benefit of a magic wish-granting stone from China, which was marred from the offset with incredibly racist bullshit in the form of Chinese ‘dialogue’ in which no-one could plonounce the letter ‘R’. Yes, 1970, kids comic, blah-de-blah-de-blah, it’s still racist bullshit, and I simply refused to read it.
Flame o’the Forest was an altogether more serious affair, set just after the Norman Conquest, with a young Saxon sworn to vengeance on a vicious Norman baron who’d tortured his father to a premature death, whilst The Fugitive from Planet Scorr was a lumpen SF story about a rebel alien trying to stop his race’s plan to destroy Earth, only to be hated and feared as a monster whatever he did: like Gargan, then. As for General Johnny, this was an unwelcome re-run of Andy’s Army, with a schoolboy military tactician genius becoming a World War 2 General, about which you have to say it’s a wonder we won the bloody thing at all, given some of the notions weekly comics writers came up with in the Sixties. Except that Andy’s Army was actually better and more plausible than this.
This latest line-up was worse than weak, it was dull. Thanks to Reg Bunn, Spellbinder was visually interesting, but there was insufficient variation in the storyline, whilst Flame o’the Forest, after an initially interesting premise, got bogged down in having the Flame act like another superhero, as if this were still 1967. Lion had never pretended to be anything but a boy’s action, adventure and humour comic, but it had always had series, and frequently several off them, that proved interesting to an older audience. Now, the knack of spanning those generations seemed to have been lost. The title was lodged in a very narrow band of appeal, and its stalwart series had gotten very very tired indeed.
Reading it at this point is more of a chore than an enthusiasm. Nor am I surprised to learn that this is when the sales started to dip.
Apart from a run of poorly-reproduced Sky-High Bannion stories, billed as complete adventures, there was no change to the line-up until 25 July, when both The Fugitive from Planet Scorr and Hambone and Stringbean gave up the ghost together. Their replacements were Britain 2170AD, in which a four man spaceship crew returned from a five year mission to a Britain regressed to jungle primitivity and Sweeper Sam the Mild Matman, which I don’t even want to talk about.
Archie, Ted and Ken abandoned the time-travelling Castle at last as if it had never existed, for a trip to Mexico (superstitious peons, sigh), in search of a Golden City under the ocean whilst beating off a villainous rival who sticks at nothing to beat them to it, snore.
It’s not as if any of the new series had decent art, either. By now, only Reg Bunn’s pages for The Spellbinder were of any quality. Frank Hampson’s carefully prepared Dan Dare art was being trashed weekly by catastrophic cross-hatching and shading that looked as if it had been applied with a carpenter’s pencil, and whilst Flame o’the Forest’s artist maintained a decent smooth line, it was no better than bland. But bland was vastly superior to the horrifically scruffy art everywhere else.
At least Dan Dare was put out of its misery on 24 October 1970, when The Phantom Fleet reached an unabridged end. That was it as far as the old Eagle was concerned, and as far as this blog goes. I’ll make one new series an excuse for the next instalment.

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As it must to us all


It’s been announced today that Stanley Martin Lieber, known to anyone interested in comics as Stan Lee has died, aged 95. Lee’s career has been one of tremendous popularity, and no little controversy over where the credit for seminal stories created with the likes of Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko truly lies, but this is not the time or place for arguments. The very least that can be said for Lee is that he created a writing style that was individual and influential, and perfect for the Marvel Revolution of the Sixties, and for that alone he deserves his place in history.

Comics writers and artists tend to live a long time, so 95 comes as no surprise. And Lee was the last of them, the giants. The world is much less colourful for his passing.

The Lion in the Sixties – Part 5


The Lion of 6 January 1968 doesn’t represent any kind of revamp or relaunch so far as the contents were concerned, but it did mark the comic’s reversion to just Lion, dispensing with the Champion name, and restoring the lion’s head to the logo.
The boy who placed a regular order with his newsagent to take Lion from the beginning of 1968 would find himself reading the following series: The Spider (5pp), written by Superman co-creator Jerry Siegal and drawn by Reg Bunn; Jungle Jak (2pp); Carson’s Cubs (3pp); Robot Archie (3pp); Barracuda (2pp); Lofty Lightyear (1p); Trelawney’s Mob (2pp); Jinks (1p); Spot the Clue with Zip Nolan (2pp); Texas Jack (6pp but usually 4pp); The Phantom Viking (2pp) and Mowser the Priceless Puss and his enemy James the Butler (1p) on the back cover. Texas Jack and Zip Nolan offered complete stories weekly, the other features were serials. The three one-pagers were all comedies (provided that you stretch the definition of the word to its most elastic in the case of Lofty Lightyear) and Jinks only appeared irregularly. Lion was 44 pages weekly, in black and white with the exception of a poster-style colour cover, and still cost 7d.


With the exception of Jungle Jak, which had only been introduced in October 1967, this line-up had been running unchanged except for occasional page-lengths, for fifteen months. And the new story was not so new, since it was already swinging on the Tarzan/Lord Greystoke vine.
But the following week, a new series, ‘The Speed Kings’ debuted, starring the King brothers, professional stuntmen, speedsters and, in the case of Sandy, inventors, who were undergoing a series of tests to see if they were good enough to undertake a secret mission for the mysterious Mr Kelsey. It was pretty clear from the get-go that Kelsey had selected Joe and Sandy for their expertise, ingenuity and hare-brained courage, but also because they were too dumb to spot that they were being used. Since they were the stars of the story, it was equally obvious that they weren’t going to be dumb after all.
It looked like Robot Archie was out of the jungle again, and established in England as well. Writer Ted Cowan had ideas to shake up the series even further. With Archie spending more and more time on automatic, and getting boastful with it, Ted and Ken decided to create a duplicate Archie, one who would stay firmly under the control of Ted’s transmitter. Unfortunately, something went wrong, and what emerged was Junior, a schoolboy-sized robot, complete with school cap and shorts inbuilt, and with a stereotypical prankster personality.
Another ‘new’ series, using individual story-titles, started up on 10 February, starring pilot Mike Masters or, as anyone who’d read earlier instalments of this series recognised, ‘Sky-High’ Bannion as he’d been known when these stories first saw print. As with Karl the Viking/Swords of the Seawolves, Lion was cutting costs by pillaging its own past. On the other hand, as these reprints bumped Barracuda out, the comic ended up ahead on points.
The problem was that, in part due to the static line-up, Lion was starting to feel stale. Too many series offering long-familiar formulas, without freshness or invention. Robot Archie had made the effort to change but had done so in a stupid and demeaning fashion. Barracuda had never been any good, The Phantom Viking was as weak as Olaf Larson himself, Texas Jack had long gone past the point of interest. Trelawney’s Mob was a betrayal of the original intention and quality of the series and, in terms of realism, was now closer to the never-ending War Serial of the Fifties. Zip Nolan was deadweight, and all the Spider did was to remind those who knew the identity of the writer how far he had fallen.
The current story when this blog starts saw the Spider battling The Sinister Seven. Before I started this long read, there were characters I remembered, but only one story that, unprompted, I could have recalled, and this was it. The Sinister Seven were a septet of supervillains, organised by the master villain, Limbo, and in order to combat this multiple menace, The Spider joined the Society of Heroes, teaming up with six other crime-fighters: Captain Whiz, Tigro, Rockman, The Snowman, Rex Robot and Mr Gizmo.
What impressed me, and impressed my memory, was that here was a genuine, unalloyed British equivalent to the DC Comics I still favoured, to the Justice League of America, and the Justice Society of America.
That the story is as freewheelingly ramshackle and just plain awful as it is was not what I expected to find. I can’t believe that, as a twelve year old boy, I couldn’t see that this story was not fit to be compared to the stuff from DC, flawed as that was. I think it must have been a case of Dr Johnson’s maxim: It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all.

The next change was another case of Old Home Week, as Rory MacDuff returned on 23 March, by popular demand, with what appeared to be an all-new story that saw Rory and Barney Lomax out of their stuntman jobs when their employers went bust and setting themselves up as professional danger seekers. But as the story unfolded, it became very familiar indeed, revealing itself as another reprint.
A week later, a new one page Cartoon appeared, apparently replacing Lofty Lightyear, who’d gone missing a few weeks earlier. The Lion Lot were a full page multigag schoolkids affair, and Jungle Jak bowed out with a rather precipitous finish one week later, signalling that despite the presence of most of the stalwarts of the 1966/67 run, the monolithic line-up was now seriously beginning to shift.
The Phantom Viking took a week off and returned with a new, and more dynamic artist. Also back on the scene was the lovely Helen Yates, as Olaf Larsen’s officially recognised girlfriend, though without any explanation as to why: I mean, even the Viking thought he was pathetic.
And once Robot Archie had reset Robot Junior to Automatic Good Behaviour, the series took a massive sideways lurch, renaming itself Robot Archie’s Time Machine for the foreseeable future and sending Archie and his human pals hurtling about in time, starting with the 14th Century. At the same time, Trelawney’s Mob was put to bed: had the series run independently, with new characters, it would have been a decently light affair, with consistently good, brisk art, but it didn’t deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as the original, and far better Trelawney of the Guards.


Trelawney’s replacement was yet another overt superhero series, Gadgetman and Gimmick-Kid. It was terrible. Even Barracuda was better than this. The writer had clearly been inspired by nothing better than the Batman TV show: only the first series had ever been shown in Granada but on the evidence of this tripe, the third series must have got to wherever the writer lived. Incredibly, the strip proved very popular, undoubtedly amongst boys whose parents let them watch the TV show but not buy Batman comics, which were never as bad as this, even at the height of Camp.
Meanwhile, all six of the Spider’s allies in the Society of Heroes died, but what was worse, halfway through the 4 May episode, artist Reg Bunn either left or drastically simplified his style, all but completely dropping the elaborate cross-hatching that had distinguished his work since his first commission from Lion. The change in style lasted throughout the final instalment of the story, but Bunn was back to full speed when the next story started.
The same week saw another new two page series, ‘The10,000 Disasters of Dort’, set in the unbelievably distant future of the year 2000, and starring Professor Mike Dauntless, up against a would-be conqueror of Earth. This took the place of The Speed Kings, and offered some crisp, clean art that in no way made up for the basic dullness and unoriginality of the story.
But Joe and Sandy were not gone for good, and by 10 August they were back for a new adventure, displacing the superbly drawn but horribly weak Phantom Viking. Just in time for a drastic change in Lion‘s page count, dropping from 44 to 36 pages. The Spider, Gadgetman, Archie and Dort all dropped a page, but think of what could have been achieved by dropping the long since tedious Texas Jack.
Another new series followed on 28 September, Andy’s Army, a WW2 story about a 14 year old boy, son of a Colonel, who was not only at the front with his father but who sprung three of the biggest villains from the glasshouse (the Army prison) and drove them across the front line into German territory to become his private Army. I begin to wonder if Editorial wasn’t now competing to see what flagrantly stupid idea they could come up with next.
But even bad things come to an end and, far sooner than I feared, Gadgetman and Gimmick-Boy were given their marching papers, to make way for the return, on 2 November 1968, of Paddy Payne, in actual new adventures.
And Paddy Payne wasn’t the only old star to return. Just three weeks later, Captain Condor was back, albeit like Rory MacDuff only in reprints. Three new features debuted the same week, another one page cartoon, Scrapper’s scrapbook, Murphy’s Magic Mauler, another comic Western, about a travelling fighter who was give an Indian belt he thought made him immortal and a serious Western, Trail of Vengeance, whose art made it plain that here was another Fifties reprint.
To make room for all these new features, Texas Jack was finally dropped, whilst The 10,000 Disasters of Dort fizzled out into an extremely weak ending after only ten, to make room for another new series, starting on 30 November, The Day The World Drowned, another disaster series that at first looked like yet another reprint, but which clearly had Ted Kearon art to go with his work on Robot Archie.
And it was change, change and yet more change, with The Mind Stealers debuting in Xmas week, in the 28 December issue, this being a horror story about strange plants that absorbed human beings, turning them into soulless replicas. This was yet another in an increasingly long line of new features with neither personality or inspiration. The story starred two students, Bob and Steve, the latter of whom never once took his hunting cap off, irrespective of where they were: he must have had baaaaad hair.


There hadn’t been a full-scale revamp since 1967, so this was long overdue when this finally happened on 8 March 1969: seven features resetting simultaneously with new stories and one new series, Wyatt Earp, in Gold-Strike in Heather Hills. One look is all that is needed to pin this one down as another cheapie, a Fifties reprint, every bit as ugly and outdated as that implies. With Rory MacDuff and Captain Condor also existing as reprints, Lion was cutting its budget at the expense of its quality.
And Carson’s Cubs took a nose-dive, with Joe and the Cubs decoyed out to Storm Island by an invitation to play an exhibition match coming from a mysterious benefactor. Instead of a football story, here was a haunted house cliché, perverting the idea behind the series.
But this revamp was not well-timed, for another, bigger, most-astonishing revamp was on its way, only eight weeks later, as Lion took over another title. That’s my cue to bring this latest blog to an end, and although there’s still some eight months of 1969 to come, I’ll be treating the next instalment as the first of The Lion in the Seventies.

Heroes in Crisis 2


I am already seriously disappointed by what I looked forward to with such enthusiasm, and I have to ask myself if this is really the Tom King who is writing such an intriguing Batman comic. The truth is that, on  the evidence of two issues out of the advertised nine, Heroes in Crisis is an even bigger disappointment than Doomsday Clock, if only because I expected Doomsday Clock to be shite.

Two issues in, nothing has happened. Seriously. The only thing remotely suggesting progress in issue 2 is that it’s now being suggested that Poison Ivy has also been killed. I just don’t believe it. Any more than I believe that Roy Harper and wally West, or either of them, are really dead. There is a complete lack of conviction about anything to do with this story so far, and the ‘interview’ pages, which this month feature the Trinity, are the most unrealistic things about the issue. This lacks the depth of a molecule.

Several people are castigating this – actually, pretty much everybody is castigating this but not everyone for this reason – because they see it as Dan DiDio striking back at Geoff Johns and Rebirth and trying to dial the clock back to The New 52 and nobody being allowed to be happy or content again. You all know that I don’t rate Geoff Johns even remotely as much as loads of others do, but there’s too much plausibility in that suggestion, and if it is even halfway true then it’s completely tone-deaf as far as DC’s universe is concerned and it display’s a galling level of pettiness last seen when John Byrne stamped his widdle feet at Jim Shooter with The Pitt.

I honestly don’t know what to do about this. I’m going to continue buying the series and I’ll continue responding to it, and if the real Tom King ever pops up and starts writing any of this stale cheese, I’ll apologise, but right now the only purpose I foresee for my Heroes in Crisis collection is the moment I bung a mint set of First editions on eBay to sell for a mother****** of a profit.

The Lion in the Sixties – Part 4


The next phase of Lion began on 11 June 1966, with the formal merger of the title with Champion, cancelled after only sixteen issues. Four of Champion‘s features were brought over into the preceding issue, cutting off ‘Maroc the Mighty’ with no ending and ‘Captain Jack Wonder’ with no regrets, but the new paper saw another expansion, this time to a record 44 pages.
Lion and Champion‘s first official issue featured the following: Texas Jack (6pp), Return of the Stormtroopers (2pp), Lofty Lightyear (1p), Zip Nolan (2pp), The Flying Furies (2½pp), Jinks (1p), Robot Archie (3pp), Danger Man (2pp), Whacker (2pp), Quest of the Firebird (3pp), The Phantom Viking (2pp), Boy Kidd (2pp), Jet Jordan (2pp), The Mystery Speed Star (2pp), The Spider (4pp), and Mowser (1p). A total of eleven adventure series and five comic strips. And all still for 7d.
With the exception of ‘Danger Man’, a brand new series featuring the extremely popular ATV espionage series star John Drake, played by Patrick McGoohan (very recognisable, as if the artist was working from photographs), all the new features were decanted from the now-cancelled Champion, making the merged title a true merger. Taking these in order of appearance, ‘Return of the Stormtroopers’ was an almost immediate Vic Gunn retread, an ongoing story of resurrected Nazi Stormtroopers taking over Britain in 2046, the Vic Gunn role going to resistance leader Bill Churchill (but of course). ‘Lofty Lightyear’ featured a one hundred foot tall alien boy trying to hide on Earth from a mysterious spaceship.
‘Jinks’ was another one pager of Piloteish descent, ‘Whacker’ a two page cartoon serial in similar style, about two Liverpudlians. ‘Boy Kidd’ was taken from Spirou: the titular character was a bank and stage robber facing the attempt to catch him by one Buck Bingo, or rather Rene Goscinny and Maurice De Bever’s ‘Lucky Luke’. ‘Jet Jordan’ is a Canadian Air Force Pilot (from this point forward, ‘The Flying Furies’ Jet Power started to be called Jim Power).
The best remembered of the new series was, however, ‘The Phantom Viking’, another superhero-style serial. Meek and feeble schoolteacher Olaf Larsen has discovered an old Viking helmet belonging to a long dead ancestor that transforms him into the superstrong, flying, invulnerable Phantom Viking, as long as it’s on his head. A mixture of Superman and Thor, this famous series had surprisingly scratchy and weak art, but initially only hung around for half a dozen weeks.

Olaf Larsen and Helen

Going through the various Lion revamp/relaunches, there seems to have been a tradition that after the line-up has been thoroughly re-jigged all at once, a new series gets launched two weeks later. This time it took four weeks before ‘Trelawney of the Guards’ debuted. It was a hard-headed, deliberately gritty series of complete stories featuring a hard-as-nails Army Sergeant in WW2 that looked to have enormous realistic potential.
The Jet Jordan strip was unremarkable, and rather slow moving, but it was interesting to note that rather than the traditional sidekick, and the interminable references to the pair as ‘pals’, Mr Jordan had a ‘girl companion’ by his side, in the form of the pretty blonde Francine. Based on that, and some elements of the art-style, I’d not be surprised to find that this was yet another continental import.
But though the number of Champion series loaded into the merged comic was impressive, and though the double-barrelled name was retained for a long time, by 10 September, a mere three months, all but two were gone. These were the two one-page comedies, Lofty Lightyear and Jinks, but whereas Jinks featured some brash ligne clair and a variety of themes, Lofty Lightyear was the same thing every week, and bland to boot. These and ‘Mowser’, whose strip had been retitled to co-feature his Enemy, James the Butler, were all that was left of the comedy phase.
Needless to say, the disposition of the ex-Champion characters, plus series such as Danger Man and The Flying Furies continued the chaotic run of change, change, change, and Zip Nolan ended his British exile and returned to Pensburgh, at which point the series became very much run of the mill, with nothing new to say or do.
And there was a round of line-up changes in September, with The Phantom Viking returning for an extended run, this time with better art, The Mystery Speed Star coming to an overdue end and two new stories, one of them too be very long-lasting, in the spy thriller, ‘Code Name – Barracuda’ and the football strip ‘Carson’s Cubs’.
Add in ‘Swords of the Seawolves’ from 1 October, and suddenly Lion had it’s first truly settled line-up since 1963.
Carson’s Cubs was, I was surprised to realise, Lion’s first football series, after fourteen years in existence. Indeed, it was the comic’s first genuine sports series, in that it was about football, and not about some secret formula or crime-busting operation for which the sport was really just the peg.
But Carson’s Cubs was the real thing. It’s premise may have been gimmicky – old pro returns to failing Third Division club Newton United and revitalises its fortunes by cramming the side full of multi-talented schoolboys – but it was about the football, and the time dedicated to action on the pitch was correspondingly the greater proportion of the strip.
The villains are those who stand in the way of the club’s inexorable rise back to the First Division. At first, these included inside-forward Nick Lacey, who’s determined to make the experiment fail and get the Newton crowd to turn on the kids, but who’s out of the team pretty quickly, and the rather more long-term opposition of Director Arthur Braggart, who regards the whole idea as making the club into a laughing stock, no matter how much onfield success the Cubs bring.
Apart from the absurd premise, the Cubs themselves are eccentrics and improbable, especially the likes of Tiddler Smith and Swotty Brayne, who collectively look incapable of standing up to a gentle zephyr if it blew at them sideways.

In complete contrast, ‘Code name – Barracuda’ was a piece of crap. Barracuda, and his assistant Frollo, were the United Nations’ leading troubleshooters against the menace of WAM – War Against Mankind – the biggest criminal organisation around. Most stories lasted only a handful of weeks, the art was crude and unsubtle and so were the stories. Nor did things improve when Barracuda and his right hand man Frollo were given superhuman powers to try to turn over WAM’s conquest of the world under King Cobra.
And my parents opposed me buying American superhero comics, but were ok with me reading stuff like this?
‘Swords of the Seawolves’ was much better, as indeed it ought to be. It boasted Don Lawrence art for the first time in years, but that was no surprise, since it was nothing more than reprints of ‘Karl the Viking’, with new names: Karl was now Rolf.
The Phantom Viking’s second run was much longer and boasted better, more vigorous art. The stories were still not all that great, nor was the Viking himself, come to that: super-strength, flight, invulnerability as long as meek and mild Olaf Larsen had the helmet of his ancestor on his head, or at any rate the wind didn’t blow from the south. There were strong hints that Headmaster’s secretary Helen Yates would like to be a romantic interest for Olaf Larsen, if he wasn’t such a bloody wimp, not that she lasted long. It’s very formulaic, the only twist being that the Viking’s alter ego really is as helpless as Clark Kent and Don Blake pretended to be.
Trelawney of the Guards certainly lived up to its potential for several months, offering superb, tight cold-psychology war stories that week after week illustrated the professionalism of soldiering, from a writer who clearly was speaking from experience. But, just as ‘Paratrooper’ in Hurricane gradually morphed from war stories related by Sergeant Rock to comic book hero stories about him, the series gradually turned towards a more orthodox Trelawney-the-hero approach. It still had a gritty, realistic edge and great dark art but slowly lost its distinction by descending into into hero-worship. And even the realism was diminished as Trelawney increasingly used his rifle for swinging the butt at Jerry soldiers instead of shooting them.

Original Reg Bunn Art

Jerry Siegel’s Spider stories arouse mixed-feelings. On the one hand, he was brought in as it was clear that Ted Cowan had no real facility for direct superheroics. And Siegel, newly on the outs at DC after suing over Superman’s copyright renewal again, should have been a specialist. His first two stories continued the Spider-as-supervillain line, though the second of these saw the King of Crime up against the Exterminator, a super-assassin hired by Crime Incorporated to get rid of their greatest foe. The Exterminator could have done it too, but was deflected by the Spider offering to make him his partner. The two then whupped Crime Incorporated’s ass, until the Spider had lulled his ‘partner’ into a false sense of security and drained him. Enthralled by kicking crime, he then became a crimefighter.
By ‘The Spider vs the Crook from Outer Space’, his days as a criminal were completely forgotten. But the story is a terrible, herky-jerky affair, an endless string of unrelated episodes, with Siegel throwing in anything he can think of without the least trace of logic. These include the would-be invasion of Earth by, at first, an undersea race of mermen, then an alien space fleet, both of which being passing diversions. Then there’s the way both sides pull incredible weapons out of their ass at a moment’s notice, before immediately producing antidotes, cures and defences with equal lack of set-up. Frankly, it’s a story that would have struggled to pass muster in 1938. Did I really relish this stuff every Monday?
Robot Archie continued to ply his trade around the ignorant jungle savages of the world, with the predictable fear and superstition. Archie was now going on automatic brain more and more often, and his thought processes got to be more and more arrogant and amusing. Ken was now well-established as the more cautious of the pair of pals, often displaying a complete lack of confidence in Ted’s brainwaves.
This was self-evidently very popular, but I find the colonialist stuff sticking in my throat, and I just can’t write it off to ‘simpler’ times, probably because we are nowadays seeing an increasing number of people coming out of the closet to embrace the ultimately racist attitudes this represents. The difference is that Cowan et al. were unconsciously, almost ‘innocently’ racist whilst today’s bunch are wilfully so, but I find that distinction too subtle to make and it spoils Archie for me.
As an aside, I noted on 24 December a reference to a witchdoctor as ‘Old Rottenhat’, a phrase I’ve only ever otherwise come across in Robert Wyatt’s solo album of the same name. This is definitely not a Northern thing.
The big problem with this period of extended stability is that too many of the series’ were not as good as they’re remembered to be, or rather that instead of being stable, they were repetitive. And given that The Spider, Barracuda and Frollo and The Phantom Viking were all superheroes, whilst the increasing number of gadgets built into Robot Archie had now multiplied beyond all reason, there was insufficient variety between the stories any more. The only ones that stood out were Carson’s Cubs and, of all things, Jinks, which went missing for several weeks when the stable period finally started to crack.
Change came at long last on 28 July 1967, when ‘Trelawney of the Guards’ was renamed ‘Trelawney’s Mob’ and turned into a serial. The ‘Mob’ consisted of four of Sgt Trelawney’s men, Pyle, Cork and Kenny, who’d turned up are regulars many times and O’Rorke, a fighting Irishman. These five were sent behind enemy lines to protect a scientist looking for a German secret weapon. It was a little bit different but it also completed the downgrading of the series from the excellent and intelligent war psychology story it had been into just another Second World War serial.

Frollo and Barracuda

And a new illustrated feature, The Story of Football, made its first appearance on 18 August, taking its time to present a surprisingly comprehensive history in short chunks.
These were the herald for another revamp. The settled line-up lasted a year and a week, but on 14 October, with another set of football stickers, given away over six weeks, Lion and Champion, as it was still called, fifteen months after the merger, offered another round of new stories for its remaining stalwarts and two new series.
These were Jungle Jak, about a teenage Tarzan in Africa accidentally taken to Britain when trying to save his chimp pal from the circus, and Johnny Dynamite, embarking on a Boxing career to save his family business. Neither of them were particularly appealing, especially as the Karl/Rolf the Viking reprints were squeezed out to make room.
As for the rest of the crew, Robot Archie came back out of the jungle again, turning security guard in London, though I’m not betting against him going back to the superstitious natives, whilst The Spider found himself up against the Sinister Seven. This is the one I remembered most, the one that was all-out superheroics, with the Spider taking on other super-powered allies to battle a super-villain team. I’ll have more too say about this in the next instalment.
Trelawney’s Mob’s second outing was a ludicrous adventure bringing the team up against an Austrian Count who dressed his men in medieval suits of armour. It was the end of all credibility for the series, and a distinct blow to that of Lion overall. But the 4 November instalment did provide a moment of distinction: the first signed page of art in Lion‘s history, courtesy of artist Jose Ortiz.
Johnny Dynamite didn’t last long, racing to the British Boxing Championship in a mere ten weeks, and giving way to a new series in the first issue of 1968 which, in lieu of any more handy moment, is where this latest instalment breaks.

The Lion in the Sixties – Part 3


The latest Lion relaunch obeyed the same rules as the previous one, just over two years earlier, with all serials resetting with new stories. But whereas January 1963 was overwhelmingly a relaunch, with only one new series, 13 February 1965 fell halfway between relaunch and revamp, with four new series, and the end of, amongst others, Lion‘s last original feature, Sandy Dean and Tollgate School.
Unfortunately, this relaunch involved a definite loss of quality, with two of the new series having very little potential for long-running series, and after the strong artistic line-up that had prevailed through 1963, some very rough and scratchy work.
Thank heaven for Don Lawrence’s ongoing excellence, as the ‘Maroc the Mighty’ series started a new story, ‘The Red Knights of Morda’, but as I said last time out, John Maroc’s desert environments offered far less scope for Lawrence’s beautiful visuals than the ever changing environments of Karl the Viking.
At least ‘Robot Archie’ was now firmly established in his role as an overt crime-smasher. We had left behind the various Jungles and wild countries of the world where the ignorant natives were forever misunderstanding and fearing the heap big metal ju-ju man, at long last.
At this time, Lion‘s most substantial storyline was Vic Gunn’s ongoing secret War against Britain’s Emperor-Dictator, Baron Rudolph, drawn by John Stokes. The serial changed title again for its third story, to ‘The Battle for Liverpool’, the story being set around that City’s determined bid to establish its independence and be a conduit for supplies from the outside world, where the legitimate Government was still based in Canada. The art was vigorous if not polished and the Liverpool scenes, of the Liver Buildings and Lime Street Station had the merit of being properly researched.

Zip Nolan continued to benefit from Reg Bunn’s art, though the Spot the Clue’ stories were only better than Bruce Kent’s old beat because Nolan had two pages available. There was still rarely more than the one clue per week, as the strip had to fit in the cliched clashes with Captain Brinker and Nolan’s all-action man role in foiling the dirty criminals at the end.
Paddy Payne continued to lead Britain’s World War 2 effort in the air, despite by this point having shot down approximately twice as many aeroplanes as the whole of the Luftwaffe and the Japanese Air Force combined, whilst ‘The Silver Colt’s odyssey from owner to owner took it to the verge of the Twentieth Century.
Of the new features, ‘Bill Duggan, Sapper Sergeant’ was easily dismissible as yet another attempt to create a prose series comparable to the standards the comics series could reach, whilst ‘Jimmi from Jupiter’ was easily dismissible as utter tripe. This was the new school series, though Jimmi was actually an alien from, guess where?, who was stranded on Earth and tried to fit in by going to school. As a Jupiterian, Jimmi had a ‘gamma’ power which, stop me if you haven’t heard this one before, sometimes went on the blink. Throw in school bullies, strict masters and the overly casual way Jimmi got himself taken in by a family of complete strangers and you will appreciate that no cliché was left unturned. To be fair, ‘Jimmi from Jupiter’ was better than Eagle‘s ‘Cornelius Dimworthy’, but then radioactive lint is better than Cornelius Dimworthy, and at least the series was keeping Typhoon Tracey’s original artist in employment, now that he was no longer being used at the soon-to-disappear Hurricane.
In contrast, ‘The Sludge’ was a serious serial, about some form of practically indestructible alien life that could take over inanimate objects and bring them to pseudo-life, though it drained them to dust whilst doing so. It was just a Monster story, though its Canadian reporter-photographer team, Bill Hanley and Rick Slade, were kept on for two more ‘weird’ stories.

These were the new relaunch features but, a fortnight later, another new series started, ‘Highway Danger’. This was a nominally motor racing series, with two young independents wrecking their home-built car to save famous racing driver Milton Halder from a vicious attack. But Halder was left unable to drive so Don Dentry was asked to take his place, despite the fact there was clearly something murky going on in the background that neither he nor his mechanic were to ask about. This was the worst of the new prospects for art, with scratchy and scrappy linework operating on simplistic backgrounds, though it was a match for the colourless story. And it would go on and on, in the manner of a Fifties series, forever chasing cliffhangers with no thought for the development of the overall story.
Overall, Lion‘s new line-up was its weakest since the late Fifties.
However, the new watchword was change, first the comedy back cover, with ‘The Lion Street Lot’ finishing their run on 17 April and replaced by ‘What did you do in the war, Dad?’ Marginally a step up, this was another comic formula, with Dad’s tales of his war adventures undermined by the art that showed him to be a useless idiot of more danger to his own side than the Nazis.
John Maroc moved to the front cover, and took on the ‘Maroc the Mighty’ title on 8 May, whilst Robot Archie returned to distant jungle climes where once again superstitious natives were referring to the white men and their metal devil. I know I have the advantage of speaking over fifty years later, but this colonialist shite had worn thinner than thin before Archie’s adventures in civilised countries and this backsliding was a massive disappointment.

A week later, Lion expanded to its biggest ever size, from 28 pages to 40, and an increase in price to 7d.
Most of the new pages were taken up with short comic and cartoon strips, few of which were of any value. ‘Tug and Tich’, two incompetent handymen, was basic slapstick, ‘Charlie of the Chimps’ was a fish out of water series about an airman being turned into an apeman, to replace the original jungle lord (no prizes…) who’d scooted off to America to make movies. Sir Munchkin – Have Lance, Will Travel was just unimpressively silly.
It was still a couple of years before ITV would introduce the racially sensitive tailoring sitcom, ‘Never mind the Quality, Feel the Width’, but the principle was clearly in operation.
Nor were the two adventure series anything distinguished. ‘The Plants of Peril’, featuring Triffid-like plants, was a vegetable re-run of ‘The Sludge’ and ‘Law of the Legion’ was a straight rip off of ‘Luck of the Legion’, with dull art like another Fifties throwback. The most distinguished aspect of this first expanded issue of Lion was when Diana Rigg picked up a copy of it in The Avengers.
But comedy was now a strong element. ‘Tich and Tug’ lasted two episodes. ‘Andy’, about a bloke who goes around picking things up, also lasted two episodes, dropped out for three weeks, then returned for three more. On the other hand, ‘Sir Munchkin’ ran on and on, with a dry, droll tone and a neat running gag that each time the half-pint knight produced his card, it had a different legend appropriate to whatever spot he was currently in, but it doesn’t really do anything unpredictable.
‘Charlie of the Chimps’ had recognisably strong European cartoon art, the forerunner of a number of series that would be translated from, in two cases certainly, in the rest probably, France’s Spirou or Pilote. Unfortunately, it suffers from appallingly racist imagery with its native African characters, not to mention a pretty girl supporting character who isn’t even given a name.
And yet another comedy, this time of two pages, arrived on 29 May, ‘Lord Harry of Hardupp Hall’, about a guy who inherits a title, assumes he’s going to live a life of luxury but finds he’s even more stony-broke. This ran for about six weeks before disappearing, only to return, three months later, and again briefly in 1966.
The stable line-up of 1963 was very much a thing of the past, though Lion still had its quota of fixtures. Paddy Payne stayed stable, ‘Highway Danger’ droned on and on, and Vic Gunn went from place to place and new title to new title: Rebel Island (the Isle of Wight), Castle of Secrets (Edinburgh) and, lastly, The Battle for Britain, in which the legitimate Government organised a Normandy-style landing on the south coast, which would ultimately lead to Baron Rudolph’s toppling.
But not so elsewhere. ‘Maroc the Mighty’ lost Don Lawrence when he went off to draw ‘The Trigon Empire’ at the newly-launched Ranger, leaving another vigorous but cartoony artist to struggle in his wake over scripts by no less than Michael Moorcock. ‘The Silver Colt’ fell to earth, unnoticed, on a WW1 German airfield and was replaced by ‘The Catapult Kid’, one of the most stupid ideas for a series ever, about a schoolmaster in the Wild West who was crap with guns but shit-hot with a catapult, which he used to tame a town: it’s a wonder the pages didn’t turn brown and curl up in embarrassment.
Messrs Hanley and Slade were not the only unlikely characters to become serial stars. ‘The Garden of Fear’ was at first sight a domestic retread of ‘The Plants of Peril’, with reporter Pete Reynolds and teenager Tim Stevens getting shrunk to 2” in height and having to cross a garden, but they were resurrected immediately into Secret Agents in ‘Mission of the Mini-Men’.

Zip Nolan lost Reg Bunn at the same time Don Lawrence left, and on 23 October was sent to England for six months to study British Police methods. Captain Brinker went with him, so the formula didn’t change, and very little British stuff got past the background.
But Reg Bunn didn’t leave Lion. Instead, he found himself drawing one of the comic’s most memorable series ever. 26 May 1965 saw the debut of ‘The Spider’.
The Spider was one of those iconic characters I looked forward to every week, one of the very first I associate with Lion. The Spider, created and written by Robot Archie creator Ted Cowan, and drawn superbly by Reg Bunn throughout his career, appeared as a criminal mastermind, intent on becoming King of Crime in America, and starting by breaking out safecracker Roy Ordini and genius explosive expert ‘Professor’ Pelham as his chief assistants in his Army of Crime.
The Spider was a new highlight, and from his third adventure, starting on 8 January 1966, he acquired a new writer. I did not know this at the time, nor for decades after, and I still find it next to impossible to get my head around the fact that one of my favourite series in my British boy’s weekly comic was being written by none other than Jerry Siegel, creator of Superman. It just seems too incredible for words, even now, and a sad commentary on the treatment Siegel and his co-creator Joe Schuster received from the American comics industry.
Cowan had set The Spider up as a criminal mastermind, with two Police detectives, Pete Trask and Bob Gilmore, investigating his first case, but Siegel had them permanently assigned to The Spider. There were early signs that the villain had something resembling a decent side when in his second adventure he saved them from death. By then, he’d already been up against his first rival criminal mastermind, the Mirror Man, and Siegel was on home turf introducing Dr Mysterioso.
The Spider was an unequivocal success, but the stories around it were unquestionably mixed and the overall standard low. John Maroc’s journey home was reminiscent of the weird geography of Robin Hood Prince of Thieves. For example, he left Spain for Devon but ended up in Germany (which didn’t exist then) on the Rhine, then was kidnapped to China and abandoned there, further from home than ever.
Captain Condor, once more united with Quartermaster Burke, returned from a very long sabbatical for two more serials, taking him to the end of this section. Hanley and Slade’s third adventure saw an upgrade in art but was a retread of an old Rory MacDuff story (the one running when I started getting Lion as a kid) at greater length. ‘One Man and his War’ was supposed to be an ordinary soldier’s realistic WW2 experience but turned into one of those stupid fantasies about a band of survivors of all nations evading the Japs in the jungle. ‘Wildfire’ was a dull Western about breaking in a wild horse.
The cover was redesigned on 31 July, to a dull flat logo, the image turned to an heraldic lion above a poster-style drawing referencing true-life weird stories inside.
As well as Siegel’s arrival, 1966 saw two more new series begin. ‘Quest of the Firebird’ made an unpropitious start, setting up a maverick and a middle-aged Professor pilot to be framed for a massive and bloody robbery and going on the run in their Supercar-like craft, the Firebird. ‘Mild Bill Hiccup’ was another comedy feature, 1½ pages of clearly French art on a funny Western theme . Mowser was expended to a full page and ‘Sir Munchkin’ saw off ‘What Did You Do In The War, Dad?’ on the back page. Jimmi from Jupiter disappeared without trace.
At least the pace, or frequency, of change eased off a bit. In February, Hanley and Slade’s series was replaced by ‘The Amazing Jack Wonder’, another superheroesque feature in which a South Sea trader was subjected to an experimental drug that gave him the power to change his body into inanimate objects, which he promptly put to use against the Germans in the Second World War, but it was another month before the arrival of ‘The Mystery Speed Racer’, another in the ongoing line of Fifties-style throwbacks, this one set in the world of speedway racing.
After eleven months, Sir Munchkin ended without fanfare, with the worthless ‘Wildfire’ following it a month later but, to great surprise considering that it had been Lion’s most popular series, taking Paddy Payne with it.

But Paddy had already been joined in the air by ‘The Flying Furies’, about ‘Jet’ Power and Terry Madden, new recruits to a United Nations fighter squadron. Though the art was largely serious, there was enough of a French cartoon realist style for me to immediately nominate this as another Pilote import, which an undeleted copyright notice would confirm in due course.
‘Mild Bill Hiccup’ was yet another of the uncredited French brigade, a comedy Western running about three months, but it was followed by a more serious feature, when ‘Texas Jack’ made its debut on 30 April. The title character was Captain Jonathan Morningstar, stationed alongside General Custer at Fort Starke and facing off against weekly Indian threats in Lion‘s biggest ever feature, complete six page stories every week.
The same week saw yet another short run cartoon, ‘Pooch’, which got the seemingly statutory two weeks, and then one extra after a month off. Meanwhile, Paddy Payne’s place was taken by the short-lived ‘Rockfist Rogan’, this one a prose RAF series reprinted from the old Champion comic of the Fifties and before. This makes me suspect that more than one of these Fifties-throwback series might have come from the same source.
Where Lion might have been going in this phase was brought to an abrupt end. Early in the year, Fleetway had launched another weekly comic, a new Champion, in the Hurricane mould. This was a disaster, lasting only sixteen issues. Where Hurricane had been crashed into Tiger, Champion would merge into Lion. Though the formal merger under joint names wouldn’t take place until 11 June 1966, four of Champion‘s refugees made an early start in the week before.
Thus we will end this chapter here, and take up the story with the official debut of Lion and Champion.

Doomsday Clock 7


So the hands of the Doomsday Clock have finally ground round to the publication of another issue and we get our first telegraphed sign that, as I gloomily predicted right from the start, last year, Superman will indeed defeat and even kill Dr Manhattan, it seems by knocking his block off.

Yes, the big blue guy with the non-existent costume finally comes out of hiding in issue 7, as Geoff Johns takes a handful of his cards and throws them into the air, creating a brand new pattern when they come down but, despite the pretence, not one that makes any better sense than they’ve done so far.

What the episode does is to bring together all the participating Watchmen characters, in which pool we have to reluctantly include the Mime and the Marionette, with a small role for each of The Joker and Batman, and stir them all about. In terms of presentation, Johns mixes between Manhattan’s perceptions, rooted in a conception of time as a whole, visible from every angle simultaneously (except for one month in the future when everything goes completely black just as Superman in flying at him with one fist raised…) and the rather more linear perceptions of everyone else.

Speaking of linear terms, the actual sequence of events is a mess. The Mime and Marionette start torturing the Comedian in the Joker’s lair, until they’re interrupted by NewRorscharch, Ozymandias and NewBubastis. This pair – we can’t really count NewBubastis, though she is important – have already dumped Johnny Thunder and Saturn Girl (a hero from the past and a hero from the future, each representing a team not currently existent in the DC Universe but who Johns will be bringing back), but Ozy has hung onto Alan Scott’s original green lantern (Dr Manhattan has already announced to us that Alan Scott did not become Green Lantern in this reality, the Doc having shifted him six inches over so that when the train crashed, he didn’t save himself by grabbing the lantern).

It appears that Ozy is using NewBubastis as a kind of highly-specialised gieger counter: she’s been synthesized from the fragments of DNA left remaining after the original had her intrinsic field removed in Watchmen 12, crossed with a fragment of Dr Manhattan’s DNA, making her a blind spot in his universe and drawing him to the spot.

Which works. Ozy pleads with Jon to come back to their own Universe and save everything but Jon refuses, saying he’s never going back, and leaves without Ozy being able to do anything to keep him here. But before departing, he drops a few plot-points into the mix.

Firstly, he did not spare Mime and Marionette from disintegration that time because of any sentimentality but because, from his non-linear perspective, he knew what their baby will do. No, not the one that was taken away from Marionette but the other one: the one she’s already pregnant with since arriving in the DC Universe.

The other one is that he dobs in Ozy over a slightly significant fib: Adrian Veidt’s not got brain cancer. Or any kind of cancer for that matter. Ozy has been pretending to manipulate Reggie into becoming NewRorscharch, when actually OldRorscharch was responsible for Reggie’s Dad’s complete and utter downfall.

Reggie, who has been amusing himself by punching the Joker in the mouth several times, whilst Marionette has been trying to saw Batman’s head off from the middle of his mouth upwards, takes against Ozymandias at this revelation, not to mention the whole NewRorscharch thing, ripping off his mask and doing a runner: so much for that. Mime and Marionette, happy as Larry at having another baby, take off with Not-Alan-Scott’s Lantern

Meanwhile, Ozy returns to the Owlship where Saturn Girl can suddenly read his thoughts, until he batters her and the 102 year old Mr Thunder into unconsciousness. He then flies off in the Owlship with a) NewBubastis and b) a new plan to save every world in creation. You shudder.

Cue one page of pregnant future shouts and Manhattan returning to Mars wondering whether the ultimate outcome is Superman destroying him or him destroying everything (hint: not option 2).

what we’re seeing here is Mr Oh-So-Orignal Johns handing us Ozymandias the would-be world saviour, only this time instead of a calm, ordered reflection, based on long-planned purpose, we have Ozy the madman, the megalomaniac. He may well have been that all along, if you judge by actions, but the overt maniacally smiling version is a cliche that we’re supposed to accept as superior to the Watchmen version. Nah, baby.

I shall repeat what I’ve already said, all along. Watchmen was based upon the wish to look at superheroes from a different perspective. Doomsday Clock is based upon the wish to look at them in exactly the same way they’ve always been looked at. Geoff Johns’ career profited from the existence of Watchmen even before he began this series.

So that’s going to be it for another two months. I know I’m biased (you hadn’t noticed?) but am I the only one to think that any momentum this turkey had has long since dried up and blown away? I bought Doomsday Clock 7 the same day I bought Heroes in Crisis 1. There’s five issues of one left to eight of the other: bet you I read the end of Heroes in Crisis first.