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 34th 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.
Very true. And in the last few years many new modern cinemas have opened. The pandemic means they are struggling to survive.
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