One Man’s Trash… The Ephemeral Obsessions of John Townsend

(This article first published in the Fortean Times No 390, dated March 2020)

For almost 70 years, John Townsend amassed an extraordinary collection of 20th century ephemera that has now inspired a new book, Wrappers Delight. Bob Fischer carefully unwraps the story, then puts the packaging to one side for safe-keeping

“He was collecting on a different level,” says Jonny Trunk. “Relentless. Absolutely relentless. It’s so hardcore.”

This is quite something coming from Jonny, a irrepressible gatherer of vintage curiosities himself. His label, Trunk Records, has become the stuff of legend; breathing new life into musical obscurities of the mid-20th century. But his new book, Wrappers Delight, shines a spotlight on one of the most prolific collectors of British ephemera ever to have lived. The late John Townsend lived in the suburbs of Stockport, dedicating his entire life to a house-filling (and, indeed, shed, caravan and summerhouse-filling) collection of cards, stickers, wrappers, packaging, tins, junk mail… pretty much anything that ordinary households would routinely throw away.

The story of the book began with promotional flexi-discs. A friend of John Townsend’s son Robin borrowed a boxful from the house, and uploaded an audio mix of them onto Youtube; before alerting Jonny Trunk, who has a profound interest in such matters. “There was the Barbara Moore Singers doing a Tango advert; there was a Bryant & May ‘Message from the Chairman’, that sort of thing,” remembers Jonny. “Just my sort of advertising rubbish! I went up and offered Robin a good sum of money for the box, and I said ‘Let’s have a look around the house’. And from there… “

He pauses.

“It was an Aladdin’s Cave. Hanging in the hall was a Weetabix T-shirt, and I thought ‘What?! Why is there a Weetabix t-shirt there?’ It was the one where they turned the Weetabix into little skinheads, remember that? And on every shelf there was a thing, a tin can that was a promotional item that had been turned into a radio… wherever you looked there was something. He had loads of mugs, and I love mugs. And they were everywhere… mugs from Robertson’s Jam or the Swizzels factory.


“There were bags, and in the bags were boxes, and in the boxes were more bags, and in the bags was more stuff. I’m a collector, and I know how much time, energy and effort it’s taken to collect the roomful of records I’ve got. And he did it with postcards, cigarette cards, tobacco silks, first day covers… everything. What most people spend their life doing for one thing, he did across several. I got really excited by the possibilities.

The book is a sumptuous affair, with 500 of John Townsend’s most vividly evocative items scanned and photographed in loving detail. From Pink Panther candy to Yellow Submarine sweet cigarettes, from Lolly Gobble Choc Bombs to Kung Fuey crisps, they provide a direct portal to an era when luridly-packaged treats would be eagerly snaffled by grubby-faced kids all over the country, queuing in pokey sweetshops and street corner newsagents alike.

Three days after speaking with Jonny Trunk, I travel to Stockport to visit the Townsend household itself, finding myself at the door of an impressive, five-bedroomed house in a leafy cul-de-sac: the very epitome of unassuming suburbia. I’m greeted by Robin, a whiskery blues musician now known universally as Robin Sunflower (“It was chosen for me by the people of Ashton-Under-Lyne”, he smiles, enigmatically). His wife Paula is also there, as are two incredibly excited dogs, one of whom is called Elvis.

Immediately, I get a sense of what Jonny has described as a “strange energy”; John Townsend’s collection, although depleted since his death in 2014, still dominates every available space. The house is a riot of ephemera, a museum of 20th century pop culture and packaging that is still piled halfway to the ceiling in some rooms. As we settle down by the fireside, Robin begins to tell me his father’s life story.

“He was born in Surrey in 1937,” he says. “His dad died quite young, and his mum got another man, so he ended up going into a children’s home. And he spotted that the milk that was delivered there every day had different patterns on the cardboard bottle tops. And he started collecting them. It was something that he could have, something that made him different to everybody else. And from there he went onto collecting cigarette cards, tea cards… and then anything.”

“He had an eye for design, and logos…” adds Paula. “They would have appealed to him…”

“Yeah,” agrees Robin. “Logos fascinated him. So he went from cigarette cards, to bubble gum cards, and then the actual packaging. Everything that came into the house was planned. It wasn’t just a case of ‘We need some beans, we need some Cornflakes.’ He’d be in the shop, and he’d say ‘We’re going to get these beans, because they’re advertising this film…'”

John moved from Surrey to Stockport in the late 1950s, and into the current house in the early 1970s. He spent his entire working life as a rep for Bird’s Eye (“We were never short of frozen peas,” deadpans Paula), weaving his love of collecting into his regular family life, with wife Brenda and three young sons – Martin, Robin, and Christopher.

“Me and my older brother Martin were very much employed, at not fantastic rates!” laughs Robin. “My dad would regularly come back with boxes of bubble gum… 144 packets in each box. And in each packet there’d be one piece of bubble gum and four or five cards of whatever series it was; footballers or pop stars. We would flatten all the wrappers, then get all the cards and put them into order, onto boards. There’s No 7 from that series, and there’s No 22…”

What comes over strongly is that John’s hobby wasn’t merely collecting for collecting’s sake: he felt a overpowering duty to preserve the minutiae of 20th century life for future generations to enjoy, and had a visionary sense that eventually these throwaway items would amass great cultural importance, simply because most households were throwing them away.

“There was definitely a social history angle,” nods Robin.

Paula agrees. “Everything to do with disposable life fascinated him,” she says. “He was always going on about the throwaway society, and how it was wrong and he should keep everything. And how one day it was all going to be in this glorious museum. He never got round to that… he never gave himself time, because he was always just collecting more and more.”

“People would bring him things as well,” adds Robin. “He’d say ‘Please collect all your empty cereal boxes and bring them to me… all your junk mail, all your phone cards, all your bus and train tickets…'”

And some of John’s collection has accrued remarkable value.   

“There were two boxes full of flattened cereal packets, mostly from the 1970s,” says Robin. “I looked through, and said ‘This one’s got Star Wars on it…’. So we put two Star Wars Shreddies boxes onto eBay with a starting bid of a fiver. Someone got in touch, and asked ‘Would you take £300 for the two?’ It was like… right, OK… let’s tread a bit more carefully now. We’ve also got Battlestar Galactica, Superman, The Black Hole

“And the Doctor Who Weetabix boxes, we just couldn’t believe. One bloke bought three of the four, on the same day. He spent over £1,000 on three empty Weetabix boxes.”

So objects that were designed to be collectible are now worth less than the packaging that housed them, simply because people kept the former, but not the latter?

“Yeah,” nods Robin. “People might have kept the little plastic figures or the cards, but not the box. That’s the nature of ephemera.”

“Your dad knew that all along,” says Paula. “He understood that immediately.”

The presence of John’s wife Brenda seems to have tempered the scale of the collection, but the intensity of his hobby escalated following her death in 1989. “It was different when Mum was alive,” agrees Robin. “There were certain areas where his collection was, and certain areas where it wasn’t. But once there was only him, there was no need for any demarcation lines.”

This change in circumstances led John’s fascination with printed matter into some unexpected new territories, too: notably, a notorious Manchester nightclub whose name become synonymous with 1990s rave culture.

Haçienda club flyers,” says Paula. “He loved those.” 

Robin nods. “He used to go into Manchester with a rucksack, a shopping trolley and a couple of shoulder bags, and he would go round Affleck’s Palace and Eastern Bloc Records, picking up huge stacks of them. His bag would weigh a ton!”

This new direction prompted John to put his collecting on a more formal footing, with the foundation of an official society. “He was running a club called the M.I.C.E. club,” explains Robin. “All about club flyers, tourist information cards, free postcards… things that were given away as promotional items.”

At this point, he retrieves from the shelf a book that gives an indication of the level of attention that John’s collection began to attract. The Ultimate Guide To Unusual Leisure, by Stephen Jarvis, was published by Robson Books in 1997. It includes an entry on M.I.C.E, the “Modern Information Collectors Exchange”, founded by John to swap promotional flyers with similar enthusiasts dotted around the country.

“What would life be like if you saved every piece of junk mail?” the book speculates. “Probably like John Townsend’s life, who has boxfuls of the stuff all over the house. It’s even on the staircase. He says: ‘There’s a gap down the middle of the hall, where I walk…'”  

Robin closes the book, proudly. “It’s also got entries on Zen Archery, the Friends of the Museum of Bad Art, The Flying Nun Fan Club, and barbed wire collecting.”

“I’m surprised your dad didn’t get into that,” smiles Paula.  

So did the collection take over the house as spectacularly the book suggests?

“It was quite extreme at one point,” says Paula. “You could sort of shuffle around, but you had to do it really slowly. Sometimes you would actually have to climb over boxes. If you laid flat, you could sort of slide over them. And I don’t remember going upstairs for the first few years. I don’t think it was accessible upstairs.” 

“Sometimes you’d hear a sort of rumble upstairs, as something collapsed…” remembers Robin, wistfully.

“But there was never any shame over it,” adds Paula. “He was always ‘Take me as you find me, this his how I want to live’. And everybody accepted that, because it was just… John.”

Both Robin and Paula recall John’s sense of humour and gregarious nature, describing a funny and sociable man who was entirely aware of his own idiosyncrasies. “He liked the thought of being the eccentric English gent,” nods Paula. “He loved being the centre of attention, and if he got the opportunity to be on the radio or the telly, then he loved that, too.”

And the dawn of the 21st century provided the opportunity for John to expand his collecting habits even further. Perhaps not surprisingly, he was an enthusiastic early adopter of eBay.

“He had his own van that the Post Office would send out specifically to come here,” recalls Paula. “Nowhere else. A massive box of condiments, free sachets of brown sauce, turned up one day. We said ‘Why have you bought this?’ He said ‘Because I’m collecting free giveaway condiments, obviously.’ He never used them, they just sat there for years in the box, then got totally moused…”

Robin laughs. “He ran a M.I.C.E club, and them some real mice joined…”

“The kitchen was really scary,” laughs Paula. “Remember that big tin of Mango Purée that exploded?”

Both agree that the collection reached its peak in 2007, by which stage the house was so dominated by bags and boxes that John moved into the garden summerhouse. And shortly before his death in 2014, he was still ordering eBay items from his nursing home: they would arrive unexpectedly at the house, much to Robin and Paula’s surprise.  

The couple moved into the house when John died, and began the bittersweet task of gently dismantling the collection. As the family sift through what John once conservatively estimated to be 34,000 items (“Possibly 34,000 squared!”, jokes Robin), older brother Martin has been tasked with listing the more interesting items on eBay.

“It feels strange, it all going out of the house,” admits Paula. “Because the house and the collection have kind of become one. And it is Robin’s dad. Having had years of arguing with him, I now feel that I understand where he was coming from, and why he couldn’t let it go. I thought it would be easy just to get rid of it, but it’s really not. When stuff goes out of the house, it does tug on your heartstrings a bit, because we’re never going to see it again. But realistically, we can’t keep hold of it.”

Robin agrees. “It’s a shame that he spent a lot of time gathering these things together, and now they’ve been fragmented. Maybe out there now, there’s someone desperately trying to gather them together again…”

Wrappers Delight, of course, immortalises a corner of the collection, and cements John Townsend’s visionary status: Jonny Trunk’s 2019 crowdfunding campaign to finance the book reached its £20,000 goal in 36 hours, proving that the world has finally come round to John’s way of thinking. We now positively delight in the disposable ephemera of decades past. And Jonny Trunk himself is rightly proud of the finished product. “On every page I’ll see something I like,” he says. “There’s a lot of illustration which I think is really quite charming. Some of it’s brilliant, and some of it’s not very good at all… that slightly ‘outsider’ art of badly drawn pop stars, you know. But there’s something on every page I’d buy.”

Meanwhile, Robin and Paula are a delightful couple, and inexhaustibly welcoming. As we potter around the house, I get an overwhelming impression of their love for John, and their willingness to share and celebrate his story. Touchingly, on top of a drinks cabinet in the front room, are the modest pile of 1940s cardboard milk bottle tops that sparked the whole collection. They graciously offer them for me to inspect; the faded remnants of a traumatic, wartime childhood. I’m subsumed by a feeling of incredible sadness.

“He lost everything when he was a kid,” says Paula. “But these were something that he could take, that he could just have. It was like everything he’d lost, he put into his collecting. I think a lot of it was about him taking control of his life.”

“Yeah,” agrees Robin. “Existing on his own terms.”

And as we pass the foot of the staircase, John’s story has one final, heart-rending twist. Posing for photographs beside a promotional cardboard cut-out of a beaming 1970s schoolboy sporting a Superman t-shirt and a chequered flat cap, Robin smiles. “If we stand here, my parents are in the picture, too”, he says. And he points out two charcoal-grey cardboard boxes, nestling almost unnoticed beneath a fluffy, sleeping toy cat.

John Townsend has become part of his own collection. It’s impossible not to conclude that it’s what he would have wanted. 

Wrappers Delight, by Jonny Trunk, is available from FUEL Publishing, RRP £24.95. It’s here…

http://fuel-design.com/publishing/wrappers-delight/

And if you’d like a slice of John Townsend’s collection… look for the eBay ID “oldtom85”.

Thanks to Robin and Paula, Jonny Trunk, and to ace photographer Andrew T. Smith; gratitude to FUEL Publishing too, for providing images from the book.

The new Fortean Times (Issue 391) is now available, and has the latest printed Haunted Generation column, featuring reviews of new albums by Keith Seatman, Plone, The Heartwood Institute & Panamint Manse and Capac with Tom Harding. It looks like this
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The Haunted Generation in the Fortean Times – Issue 389

As well as this regular blog, the Haunted Generation is also a bi-monthly column in the Fortean Times magazine, rounding up new releases and forthcoming events. This was the most recent feature, from issue 389, dated February 2020.

THE HAUNTED GENERATION

Bob Fischer rounds up the latest news from the parallel worlds of popular hauntology…


“The general reaction from the press seems to be surprise, but also that it makes perfect sense,” says Jim Jupp, co-founder of Ghost Box Records. “It certainly does to us. His eclectic career takes in a lot of the areas that are part of the Ghost Box landscape – psychedelia, folk, electronica – and more generally I think it’s probably fair to say that his work often re-explores sounds and styles from the past, without them being straight re-enactments.”

“It’s a central idea of the label’s manifesto. If we had one, that is…”

He’s talking about one of the most unexpected musical collaborations of 2020. And some of us have barely taken the Christmas tree down. Ghost Box, the home of haunted electronica stalwarts Belbury Poly, The Focus Group and The Advisory Circle, have teamed up with the Modfather himself. Paul Weller‘s experimental EP In Another Room, released on the label on 31st January, combines abstract sound collage with a distinctly melancholy musicality. Wistful piano passages collide with mournful cellos, all infused with the sounds of distant church bells, summery birdsong, and juddering spirals of disquieting radiophonica. Unsettlingly pastoral, it evokes jumbled memories of crackly Percy Grainger 78s, of Ivor Cutler’s wheezing harmonium and the shocked delight of hearing The Beatles’ Revolution 9 for the first time. It is the sound of that late summer’s evening walk in the woods, when the darkness settles just that little too quickly for comfort. 

“We loved the four tracks he put together,” says Jim. “They connect directly to the world of vintage electronic music, musique concrète and tape music. But as you’d expect, they add a very musical sensibility, shot through with all kinds of instrumental passages. Sometimes just little sketches or dead ends that wrongfoot the listener.”

“In talking to me and Julian [House, Jim’s Ghost Box co-founder], it was clear that he’s very into early experimental electronics. Amongst others, Third Ear Band and Trevor Wishart came up in conversation.”

So how did the collaboration come about?  

“We discovered through an interview he did for Shindig magazine that he was a fan of the label,” explains Jim. “And he mentioned to the editor that he’d like to do something for us at some point, so he put us in touch. We were absolutely thrilled and honoured, as you can imagine.”

The vinyl 7″ is immaculately swathed in House’s trademark artwork; gloriously evocative of some strange, faded textbook in a dusty school library. It’s a beautiful object from a gentler, stranger era, and Jim hints tantalisingly at further collaborations. In the meantime, In Another Room is available from ghostbox.co.uk.

Elsewhere, the prolific boutique label Spun Out Of Control continues to release perfectly-crafted cassettes of eerie electronica, often with impressively high concepts. Glasgow’s Alan Sinclair – recording as Repeated Viewing – explains the genesis of his wonderfully sinister new instrumental album Nature’s Revenge: “The inspiration came to me whilst sitting up a hill in the middle of the beautiful Scottish wilderness,” he says. “The rugged landscapes of my homeland provide unparalleled moments of awe, often mixed with a sense of dread as the inevitable foul weather moves in. Is there an underlying narrative? Perhaps a poor-planned woodland wander gone sour, creepy encounters with strange forest beings, or ramblers frantically fleeing their unfortunate encounters with the ‘hill folk’…”

Meanwhile, Rupert Lally’s album The Prospect provides the soundtrack to his own short story, the tale of 19th century stagecoach robber Jack Delaney, whose bungled heist in the remote Canadian Rockies sparks a terrifying tale of supernatural visitations and blood sacrifice, all infused with a woozy, dream logic that bleeds into his epic, synth-drenched compositions. And I can’t trumpet enough the talents of Spun Out of Control’s resident sleeve artist Eric Adrian Lee, whose darkly beautiful artwork is both tasteful and outré, the meeting point between vintage Hammer Horror posters and lurid 1970s prog-rock sleeves. Visit spunoutofcontrol.bandcamp.com/merch.

I’ve also become entranced by Wrappers Delight, a book compiled by Trunk Records’ irrepressible Jonny Trunk, showcasing the incredible, house-filling collection of sweet wrappers, crisp packets, drinks cans, bubblegum cards and other 1960s and 1970s ephemera amassed by Stockport man John Townsend. Over 500 of them have been scanned and photographed, and are – ahem – a giddy confection. An overwhelming reminder of the days when Anglia Shandy, Count Dracula lollies and Doctor Who sweet cigarettes were produced by tiny factories in Brentford, Slough and Cricklewood, it’s also liable to give you an insatiable hankering for the taste of a Rowntree’s Fingammy. After a successful crowdfunding campaign, it goes on general sale in February, published by FUEL.

Jonny Trunk, Wrappers Delight and John Townsend

Trunk Records! Everybody loves Trunk Records, surely? A label that offers such an overpoweringly direct link to the nostalgic ephemera of the British 1970s childhood; whether by collating the wistful folk music of vintage pre-school television on the sublime Fuzzy Felt Folk compilation; introducing a new generation to the unsettling radiophonic sounds of The Seasons (an album so redolent of its era’s school halls that the sleeve should really have come with a “scratch and sniff” whiff of parquet flooring), or reissuing the beautiful, melancholy soundtracks to Fingerbobs and Ivor The Engine.

And this obsession with the ‘between the cracks’ minutiae of the 1970s childhood experience barely scratches the surface of the Trunk oeuvre. Elsewhere, there are long-lost film soundtracks, vintage 1950s jazz and exotica, spoken word oddities, even an archly-voiced album of letters written by lonely (if imaginative) gentlemen to their favourite adult magazine and movie stars.

The latest Trunk project is a belter. A barnstormer. An project so bound up in this joyous love of the little, the lost and the forgotten that it’s deserves to become a keystone of the label’s already prodigious output. A new book, deliciously titled Wrappers Delight, showcases the highlights of a forty-year collection of British ephemera that filled an entire house (and accompanying caravan and summerhouse) in Stockport. We’re talking sweet wrappers here… and crisp packets, cigarette cards, cereal boxes, fizzy drinks cans; in fact, pretty much anything with a branded label that ever graced the shelves of Liptons or Presto or Fine Fare or – indeed – the little corner shop on the end of your street with an impressive selection of Mini Milks and Flash Gordon stickers.

The man behind the collection was John Townsend, and the man collating the book is Trunk Records’ irrepressible Jonny Trunk, who – in collaboration with Fuel Publishing – has launched a Kickstarter crowdfunding campaign to get the project off the ground. Impressively, the target was met within 36 hours, but potential punters still have until 6th July to offer their backing, and claim any number of superb bonuses – including a Planet of the Apes bubblegum print, a striking Space Dust t-shirt, and a pink 7″ single of advertising jingles by British jazzman Kenny Graham. The link is here…

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/jonnytrunk/wrappers-delight

I spoke to Jonny Trunk for my BBC Tees Evening Show. Here’s how the conversation went…

Bob: Can you start me telling me a little bit about John Townsend himself?


Jonny: He was born in Surrey, and he was an orphan. And at the orphanage where he lived, post-war, he realised that every day when the milk arrived, the cardboard bottle tops were all different. So he thought “Oh, I’ll start collecting those…”

By the 1950s he’d amassed a huge collection of what’s called “cartophilia”… cigarette and tobacco cards, that kind of thing, and he became a legend within those circles. He knew all about advertising printed on silk, and anything to do with soap… he was quite a manic collector. I’ve never really seen anyone like him, with that broad scope of interests. For the rest of his life he collected, and then – when he retired – he became an advisor to companies like Lever Brothers, because he knew so much about Port Sunlight! He just couldn’t stop collecting everything. Anything to do with brands… club flyers, phone cards, first day covers, playing cards… honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it in my entire life.

We’re talking about the kind of collection that takes over the entire house here, aren’t we? And the garage, and the shed, and the caravan…

Yeah, when he passed away in 2015, his son took over the house, and pretty much lived in the kitchen and a little bit of the sitting room. The rest of it was just full. I came across it by complete accident, really… I was going to see his son about some advertising flexi-discs, because John collected those as well. Because they were brand-based… anything to do with a brand, he got involved with, and wanted to collect. So Robin, his son, told me all about John… and when I got to the house, there were just these extraordinary piles of… everything. In a box, there’d be another box full of three different collections of cards from Typhoo Tea, from Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake, and from Sunblest Bread. And then, in another bag, there’d be labels from sweet rock going back to the 1950s… but there’d be two and half thousand of them. It was extraordinary.

Your eyes must have lit up…

A little bit, but I was also quite apprehensive. There was quite a strange energy in the house, because of the amount of effort in bringing a collection like that together, and then filing some of it, and not filing other bits… you’d open a box, then have to sit down and say “I just don’t understand this.” There’d be a wrapper from a chocolate bar you’d never heard of, a box full of football pennants from 1960s bubble gum, weird things about the American Civil War that were given away as stickers from a comic… but they’d all be together. You almost had to try and process it, in a very strange way. But luckily his sons were very helpful, and said “anything you want to do… have a go.” So Wrapper’s Delight is the end result.

I imagine it was quite a bittersweet experiences for John’s sons? This was their father’s life’s work…

I think so in some respects, but they’d lived with it… they were the ones who had to eat all the sweets when they were little! There might have been some dental issues going on!

How had John’s family coped with it over the years? Had they ever tried to talk him out of collecting?

No, from what I gather, John Townsend was a very focused man. He had to be focused to collect what he collected, on a level that I’ve never seen before. I mean, it’s extraordinary. He was very single-minded, very determined, hugely intelligent… and they knew he was doing it, and that was it. They had their own lives.

What made him do it, do you think?

I don’t know. I’ve no idea. I mean you could go back psychologically and ask whether it was him being an orphan, and wanting to grab onto something that’s a bit more permanent… who knows. But he was brilliant at it.

We should be thankful that he did do it, because this stuff is ephemeral, and most people would look at a lolly wrapper or crisp packet, and decide to throw it away

Everyone did!

…which is why collections like this have such nostalgic resonance, I guess. The scarcity of this stuff…

Yeah, but he would also write to companies…. say if you wanted Womble stickers, and had to collect six packets of Womble chocolate to get them, he’d just phone up the company and say “Hi… can I just have the stickers, because I’m a collector”. And they’d say “Yeah, sure!”

Have you been through the whole collection now?

Yeah… I sort of knew what areas of interest I had, which was the stuff I grew up with, or that rang a bell in my head. So I went through all the tin cans, crisp packets, lolly wrappers, bubble gum packets, cards, all sorts of stuff like that. The confectionary… I mean, the sweet cigarette collection. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was mindblowing.

You put a lovely Generation Game-style video together, with this stuff going past on a conveyer belt, and so much of it just transported me. Was there a Star Wars lolly wrapper on there?

Yes!

I actually ate one of those when I first went to see Star Wars in 1978… my dad bought if for me during the interval, from a lady with a tray strapped around her neck… and I’ve never seen one since.

There’s quite a lot of that. And some of it’s not that obvious, it’s a little bit more obscure. So the book’s not full of Mars wrappers from 1972, it’s a bit weirder than that. There are things like Trebor Prehistoric Chews, do you remember those?

Did they have dinosaurs on, by any chance?

Yeah! And he’s not only got the wrappers, he’s got the cardboard box they were shipped in. We found, in the attic, two huge boxes full of flattened Weetabix boxes… which we didn’t realise were worth a huge amount of money, because they’ve got Doctor Who all over them. A cut-out TARDIS on the back of the box, that kind of thing.

So what form does Wrappers Delight actually take? Have you been doing a lot of scanning?

We’ve been photographing all the three-dimensional objects, like the Cresta can, and then anything that’s two-dimensional, like the flattened wrappers, have been professionally scanned. So we need the Kickstarter to produce a 240 page, full colour, magnificent beast of a book.

And you actually reached your Kickstarter target on… was it Day 1?

36 hours. I thought we were going to be pushed to do the whole thing, but I was overwhelmed by peoples’ enthusiasm and generosity. It’s been extraordinary.

It’s your first crowdfunded projecty, isn’t it? Were you nervous?

Yes, of course… you’re throwing yourself out there, and the way that this is crowdfunded, it’s all or nothing. You either get the funding and can do the book, or you don’t get the funding and you can’t do the book. It’s nerve-wracking, but strangely exciting. I think the Generation Game video helped a lot, and I think people saw the humour and the charm in it, and were seeing things that they’d never seen before. I’ve seen a lot of this stuff, and there were still things that I’d never seen before. It’s on such another level, it’s really interesting.

Great to see that Jarvis Cocker is writing the book’s introduction. I’m guessing this stuff struck a chord with him, too?

Yeah, we sent him over the video… we thought “He’s a pop star…” and you know, it’s all a bit pop, isn’t it? And he was up for it. And what’s interesting is that there was very much a sort of… well, I wouldn’t call it a North-South Divide, but there were certain brands that only really appeared in the North. What’s the one I was looking at today… GBs? That’s quite a weird one. A Scottish tinned mineral drink, a fizzy drink that only appeared up there. Bob’s, too… do you know Bob’s Lemonade? That’s quite an odd one.

I feel like I should, but I don’t…

Honestly, there are some really obscure ones that I’ve never seen before.

I’ve only discovered recently that quite a few brands were trailed in the North-East, before going fully national. Wispas, for example. And the one that I’ve really been trying to look into recently is Glee Bars, which I remember eating in the early 1980s. They were a bit rummy. In fact, I’ve seen rumours online that they were actually taken off the market due to their alcohol content.

They do sound highly questionable…

Yes, kids were getting fighting drunk on Glee Bars in the mean streets of Middlesbrough. The only people I can find that remember them are from Teesside, or at least the North-East. 

I’m pretty sure there are some strange regional crisps as well. They’ll all be finally revealed as and when the book’s finally published, in October or November.

Can people still contribute to the Kickstarter?

Yes, we’ve got another three weeks. It’s great… the reason John’s family have been very generous with the collection, and said I that I can do what I want, is that they get a good percentage of the book. So the more we get, the more they get. And the more fun everybody will have.

And on a thoughtful note, it’s a lovely celebration of John’s life, too. 

That’s whole point. And if this goes well, believe it or not there are probably two other books that could also appear. They’re not related to sweets or anything like that, they’re a bit stranger, but they’re still from his remarkable archive. It’s extraordinary what’s in there. Extraordinary. And it’s good fun, that’s the whole thing. It works on a pop level, on a strange nostalgic level, on a graphics level… it’s just brilliant.

Thanks for Jonny for the natter, and please have a rummage through the Kickstarter options on offer… there’s some great stuff available. And, on an entirely unrelated front, the next issue of the Fortean Times magazine (No 381, July 2019) has the latest printed Haunted Generation column, with thoughts on Jonathan Sharp’s album Divided Time; the new A Year In The Country compilation The Watchers; and Mark Brend’s creepy new novel Undercliff. It’s available on Thursday 20th June.