Heya :) The following statement was written by Dave Luckett when I was writing my speech for last year's Mumfan winner, which explains the amazing and heartfelt place this award has for WA fans. This award affects people - and it is something that recognises the kind of person you are. It's many people's favourite award, and what Danny is saying is that it affects him too and that he could never receive it.
We in WA decided to do something else instead - we didn't feel that the Mumfan said everything that needed to be said about how much effect Danny has had on the WA community, and more than that, the Australian community. The Silver Swan is for an overwhelming contribution to WA SF Fandom/Community, and that really is just the tip of the iceberg to explain Danny's contribution.
Of course it shouldn't come as a surprise to me that there are prominent and active fans around today who don't remember Marge Hughes, otherwise known as Mumfan. It was, as far as fannish history is concerned, long long ago now. She died, God, I suppose eighteen years ago now, when nearly everyone who's out con-running these days was still in short pants, or not even alive. But it is a surprise, all the same. Mumfan was a one-off, a nonesuch, and I thought, (not examining the thought at all, or I'd have known it was ridiculous) that she'd never be forgotten.
She was Warren Hughes' mother, and even Warren isn't seen about much these days, though he does usually turn up to Swancon when he's in town.
But that isn't her claim to fame. Nor is it scholarship, or geekiness, or artistry, or brilliant wit, or being a great organiser. No, it was much more than that. It was goodness. It was warmth, and gentleness, and a sense of fun that never hurt, and acceptance, and laughter and wisdom that went far beyond mere cleverness. If you needed a shoulder to cry on, you went to Mumfan. If you needed someone to rejoice with, that was her. She never asked you why. She always knew, because she always noticed.
She went away and died, one day. She never said, never gave a hint. But when it happened, we all - every fan who knew her - felt a bleak loss of, I suppose, dimension. It was more than the void a good person leaves in the lives of those around her. Mumfan was what a lot of us aren't. There was a stillness about her, a depth, a stable core, a bone-deep integrity that she communicated to us. When she listened and accepted, she helped us explain ourselves to ourselves, helped us learn be satisfied with what we are, and to know it was right.
We felt, all of us then, that we couldn't just let that go. We had to remember it at Swancon. We thought we'd do something in her memory for the person who did the most, unrewarded and unnoticed, to make the con a success - that is, a joy, a wonder, an affirmation of who we are, in our several and shambolic ways. We are fans. We are family, and she was mother to us all.
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Date: 2008-03-24 10:58 am (UTC)We in WA decided to do something else instead - we didn't feel that the Mumfan said everything that needed to be said about how much effect Danny has had on the WA community, and more than that, the Australian community. The Silver Swan is for an overwhelming contribution to WA SF Fandom/Community, and that really is just the tip of the iceberg to explain Danny's contribution.
Of course it shouldn't come as a surprise to me that there are prominent and active fans around today who don't remember Marge Hughes, otherwise known as Mumfan. It was, as far as fannish history is concerned, long long ago now. She died, God, I suppose eighteen years ago now, when nearly everyone who's out con-running these days was still in short pants, or not even alive. But it is a surprise, all the same. Mumfan was a one-off, a nonesuch, and I thought, (not examining the thought at all, or I'd have known it was ridiculous) that she'd never be forgotten.
She was Warren Hughes' mother, and even Warren isn't seen about much these days, though he does usually turn up to Swancon when he's in town.
But that isn't her claim to fame. Nor is it scholarship, or geekiness, or artistry, or brilliant wit, or being a great organiser. No, it was much more than that. It was goodness. It was warmth, and gentleness, and a sense of fun that never hurt, and acceptance, and laughter and wisdom that went far beyond mere cleverness. If you needed a shoulder to cry on, you went to Mumfan. If you needed someone to rejoice with, that was her. She never asked you why. She always knew, because she always noticed.
She went away and died, one day. She never said, never gave a hint. But when it happened, we all - every fan who knew her - felt a bleak loss of, I suppose, dimension. It was more than the void a good person leaves in the lives of those around her. Mumfan was what a lot of us aren't. There was a stillness about her, a depth, a stable core, a bone-deep integrity that she communicated to us. When she listened and accepted, she helped us explain ourselves to ourselves, helped us learn be satisfied with what we are, and to know it was right.
We felt, all of us then, that we couldn't just let that go. We had to remember it at Swancon. We thought we'd do something in her memory for the person who did the most, unrewarded and unnoticed, to make the con a success - that is, a joy, a wonder, an affirmation of who we are, in our several and shambolic ways. We are fans. We are family, and she was mother to us all.