For a few precious months in 1967, the mean streets of Walthamstow were made safe by a mysterious masked superhero, wearing a hood, cape and, erm, sandals. He didn't shelter in a Batcave. He didn't need a Batmobile. He had no use for a Utility Belt. For he had in his possession a weapon that made the criminal fraternity of the day quake in their boots. He had one of his Mum's wooden coat-hangers with the metal hook taken out.
