Palaces For The Proletariat

I really can’t remember when Going to the Pictures, a term we were all familiar with, became Going to the Movies and sounded a lot more upwardly mobile.    Any cinema visit was certainly always referred to as the former when I was a child and well into my teenage years.   We York Roaders were avid Goers as and when we could afford to do so, whichever term was used.

In Northfleet there was only one cinema and it was called The Wardona and very popular with children because of the regular Saturday morning Picture Shows.   For sixpence apiece patrons aged four years and over could be seated by 9am and ready to enjoy the exploits of various cowboy heroes plus a number of lively cartoon shows, emerging into daylight again just a few minutes before noon.    Not that I was allowed to take part in this reliable weekend entertainment as often as I would have liked, the sixpenny charge being apparently Daylight Robbery.   Quite apart from that it was likely to be the Ruin of my eyes.    As I grew older I began to understand the reasons why the robbery by daylight seemed to apply more to us than others but the business of eye damage that my mother knew about and other mothers did not remained mysterious.

According to my grandmother The Wardona had started life as The Astoria and first opened in December 1929.   In its heyday it had an attached dance hall and a café that attracted couples from far and wide on Saturday evenings.   On weekdays after school, girls with mothers who were keen on them learning Ballet or Tap or sometimes both, had their regular dance lessons there.   I envied them just as much as I envied the Saturday morning picture goers but of course these activities were naturally enough another avenue where thieves and raiders lurked in daylight.

The first film I actually remember seeing was Snow White & The Seven Dwarfs in which the evil Queen managed to completely terrify me with the aid of her horrifying magic mirror.   My next major emotional trauma came via Bambi a little later when the forest fire and the fawn’s pitiful calling for his mother had me sobbing hysterically for more than a week.  I think at that stage my own mother began to re-assess the wisdom of these afternoon treats that were supposed to ensure that the mid-war years were more agreeable.   Our next matinee viewing concerned Mrs Miniver during which I was simply bored and complained bitterly enough to ensure that she was not able to benefit as much from the extravagance as she had anticipated.

We saw none of the above at The Wardona but always ventured further afield taking a bus trip into Gravesend.   There were four cinemas in Gravesend, The Super, The Plaza, The Regal and The Majestic and as far as my mother was concerned The Majestic was the grandest of them all.   She was often heard to say that there was no doubt whatsoever that they were issued the very best of the available films and the place itself was not only always clean and tidy with the ash trays reliably emptied on a daily basis, but you could listen to the wonderful Wurlitzer Organ just like the one played by Reginald Dixon at the Tower Ballroom in Blackpool.    In fact the organ she referred to was a Compton with a fully illuminated console and a grand piano attachment and it was by no means played on a daily basis.  The theatre had first opened in October 1931 with a film called Rookery Nook, starring a long-forgotten actor called Ralph Lynn.   Over the years it was to have a number of owners and changes of name but was always known to us as The Majestic. 

Over time the frisson of excitement associated with the place continued and the greatest thrill of all was going to see something special on a Friday or Saturday evening with both my parents whilst my brother was Minded by Mrs Bassant next door.   Then we might have to join a long queue outside and could observe the important looking usher in his striped trousers and black jacket strutting up and down and advising in loud tones that there were Seats In All Places.   This was a very reassuring cry because we were perpetually anxious that the much dreaded House Full sign would be displayed before our tickets were firmly purchased.

Films my father agreed to see were generally of a more edifying nature than those appealing to my mother who didn’t really mind what she saw because the occasion itself was sufficiently energising especially with a bag of sugared almonds in her purse.   Either way I remember The Grapes of Wrath, Rope and Miracle on 34^th Street.  However, the intricacies of most of what we saw simply passed me by with the exception of Fantasia which my father and I saw together one afternoon and where I was totally captivated by the music.

Old Nan, whose fondness for field work wherever it was available throughout the county, said she didn’t think The Majestic was much cop compared with the likes of The Pavilion Picture Palace that opened before the First World War in the very centre of Maidstone.  Her Edgar had taken her there on many a Saturday night during the Hopping Season.   And to be fair even that place, grand thought it was, didn’t have the edge always present at the old Scala in Dartford where she first saw film clips from the first World War.   What a Saturday night that had been to be sure, seeing their boys in the very process and action of war.  There in front of you so you could see with your own eyes and not have to look around for somebody who could read.  My grandmother, never having attended school at any stage in her life, was completely illiterate and as children we unkindly saw this as the bane of our lives when we were required to read the Daily Mirror headlines to her.

  But none of these places were a patch on that magnificent and breathtaking structure in North West London, the legendary Gaumont State, because that was a sight for sore eyes if ever there was one and undoubtedly fit for royalty should they ever decide to go there.  In fact The State seated an astonishing 4000 and its illuminated tower could be seen for miles around.  Its aim was to provide a comfortable and effortless pathway into the golden and glamourous world of Hollywood, a place that by then sat firmly adjacent to paradise for much of the clientele.

  The interior was designed in the ever more opulent style of the times ensuring that even those at the very bottom of the social heap such as us were afforded a glimpse of sumptuous magnificence simply by entering.  And although my grandmother might have initially doubted it, a visit to that celluloid world was absolutely permitted no matter which level of deprivation you sprang from.   Patrons could be certain that the staff in their splendid blue and gold uniforms would do nothing to prohibit a few hours of connection with the palatial surroundings just as long as a ticket had been purchased.

My mother was taken there by my father on the occasion of their engagement when they saw Gone With The Wind which was four hours long and they had tea and biscuits during the intermission.  The queue for tickets was so long her feet killed her in the smart new shoes with silver buckles.  But it was a worthwhile experience despite the journey on the back of the bike because she certainly was not a natural pillion passenger.   In a small way The Majestic in Gravesend put her in mind of The Gaumont State in a manner that places such as The Plaza and The Super never could.

My generation were to be suddenly and strangely much less affected by glitzy plush surroundings and were unconcerned as to how frequently ash trays were emptied.   We had no desire to put on a cloche hat over our Marcel wave and dress for a night at the picture palace.   Gloria Swanson and Rudolph Valentino along with Greta Garbo and Mary Pickford had been flung well into the past and we had turned our attention to Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, Doris Day and Mitzi Gaynor,  Marlon Brando and James Dean,  singing along with them when fitting, discussing their life-styles and poring over fan magazines.    

Going to the Pictures had undergone a change and films now played as part of a continuous programme which meant that it was possible to forge a different relationship with the once glorious spaces in which we saw them.   Patrons could come and go during the day and evening and spend as much time as they liked, often watching a programme through twice.  Although Multiplex Mini-Cinemas were still well into the future, by 1958 perhaps Going to the Movies had almost arrived!