Free Airship Shape & Bristol Fashion by Jonathan L. Howard, Deborah Walker, Cheryl Morgan, Andy Bigwood, Christine Morgan, Myfanwy Rodman

Father.”
     

     
    Park Street Music Hall
     
    Nightly at 7 o’clock. Matinees at 3 o’clock
     
    Is proud to announce the long anticipated return to the Bristol stage of
     
    Veronica ‘Bird Legs’ Biggins
     
    and her comedy company
in the
musical
Sensation
     
    I Lost my Heart to a Green Eyed God
     
    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
     
    Fresh from her sensational foreign tour
First Class Orchestra and Splendid Concert party
2 ½ hours of Sheer delight
     

     
    We made our way up Tyndell Avenue to the fernery of the botanical gardens. I remembered when it had been just waste land. The new University College had awarded their botanical lecturer, Professor Zebulon Franks, a grant of fifteen pounds for the purpose of constructing a garden of educational and recreational benefit. Fifteen pounds wasn’t nearly enough, but Zeb was up to the challenge of soliciting more funds.
     
    I’d been just plain Alex Croft in those days. I’d attended one of Zeb’s fundraising lectures, and had been persuaded to donate two pounds to the cause.
     
    “Much appreciated,” Zeb had said. “But what I really want you to do is bring back some specimens from Hy-Brasil.”
     
    “There’s no guarantee that I’ll find the place.” I was about to undertake a voyage to search for the phantom island of Hy-Brasil, said to be located west of Ireland. I’d been planning this voyage for many years. This was my grand adventure. My fertilizer company was running smoothly. And I
needed
, oh how I needed, to get out of Bristol. The constraints of married life were smothering me. It was a shame to leave little Ruth, but it was only for a few months. Sometimes a man must answer the call of adventure within.
     
    “Of course, you’ll find it,” Zeb had said. “I’ve every confidence in you. You’re taking one of those new-fangled dirigibles aren’t you?”
     
    “That’s right.” I’d just purchased
The Secret Sally
.
     
    “It’s said that your ancestor once found the place, isn’t it?”
     
    I nodded. “Thomas Croft with his partner John Jay set out to find the island in the 15th century. But the records they left are obscure.”
     
    “If it’s there, you’ll find it,” said Zeb.
     
    “I hope you’re right.” Trawling through the old family papers, I’d found some intriguing maps and charts. “With an airborne survey at least I’ll settle the matter once and for all.”
     
    “Don’t forget to bring back any unusual specimens you find,” said Zeb.
     

     
    Numbers one to five. And a glorious picture painted in colour .
     
    Captain Lance Volt confronts
the Sovereign of the lesser people.
     
    The Unnatural Menace
     
    of the
     
    Green Peril
     
    Published by Joshua Black.
Sold by newsagents everywhere.
Price one penny
     

     
    It must be admitted that I hadn’t really expected to discover the island of Hy-Brasil. It was my swan song, my last escapade before succumbing to inevitable respectability. A fancy and an indulgence. So, it had been something of a surprise to see the isle rising out of the cold, misted Atlantic waters. Like the images on the maps that had been appearing since the 14th century, it was a circular island bisected by a great gully. It was uninhabited. I failed to find the magician or his castle or the large black rabbits reported by Captain John Nisbet.
     
    What I did find was a fertile fern habitat populated only with insect life. I immediately planted the flag for the Empire, and remembering my promise to Zeb, dug out the largest fern I could find and transported it, at no inconsiderable inconvenience, back to Bristol.
     
    Zeb had seemed a little disappointed, complaining that the specimen was too big and that they already had a profusion of ferns.
     
    “I thought that ferns were the in thing,” I’d said. “With the fern craze.”
     
    “Oh yes. The pteridomania.” Zeb laughed. “Maybe you’ve hit the nail on the head, old boy. My wife is a keen fern botanist. Every blasted