"Flash, Bang, Wallop"

The dream palaces of the past became my main interest in life. ‘Flash, Bang, Wallop’: As a 12 year old, who was totally enamoured with the cinema and films, I never missed going to the pictures at least four times a week. Heanor in the 1950s, had two cinemas, ‘The Empire’, where the better class films were presented, and ‘The Cosy’; small inside, and regarded by many as a ‘fleapit’, which nearly every town had. Monday night at ‘The Cosy’ was serial night, perhaps ‘Batman and Robin’, and on Thursday, a different serial, maybe ‘King of the Rocket Men’, or something similar. I recall a particular time when ‘The Cosy’ was scheduled to show part eight of ‘Flash Gordon Conquers the Universe’, when due to a sudden change of programme, it was realised that the next episode clashed with an ‘X’ film. ‘The Snake Pit’ with Olivia De Haviland and Mark Stevens was an adult film, which meant that children under 18 years old could not be admitted to the cinema. To a 12 year old and his school mates, this was unbelievable; to miss part eight of our beloved ‘Flash Gordon’ was more than we could comprehend. John Plumb, who was then the Manager, circulated a letter to all the schools in the area, and the local rag ‘The Heanor Observer’, carried a declaration to all the townsfolk: “As a result of a late programme change, all children who are following the serial ‘Flash Gordon Conquers the Universe’ will be given free admission to the cinema at 4.30pm, on Monday. Needless to say that as the time approached, a large queue of children began to form along the front of Heanor Market Place. As the doors of the cinema were opened, a capacity audience of children took their seats, both in the stalls, and in the balcony, which took the overflow. The performance, if you could call it that, lasted some 12 minutes, as an engrossed audience watched ‘The Fiery Abyss’, part eight of the serial. A couple of policemen from the police station next door supervised their exit, controlling traffic, as hundreds of little feet left the cinema, and made their way home. ‘Flash Gordon’ was returned to his transport can, ready for collection, and for the kids of the town, a problem had been averted. ‘The Cosy’ was something special; you saw things happen there that you didn’t see in other cinemas. 32 The doors opened at 5.15pm usually, and five minutes later, Ted Beer, the usher would walk down the centre aisle with a pressurised container, spraying to the left, and the right of the gangway, leaving the whole of the auditorium smelling of the aroma of ‘Seville June’. On reaching the front of the hall, he would vanish through a small door underneath the screen, never to be seen again that evening. On other occasions there was the ritual of lighting the gas emergency lights, which were fitted on the auditorium walls, and as he pulled the small chain that turned them on and off, the mantles lit and the interior took on a new and magical atmosphere, tempting our senses to what lay ahead. ‘Hello Dolly’: Very often while shopping in town, I meet people who want to ask me about my Heanor ‘Empire’ days, and in particular, to answer some of the puzzlements from the days when they were regular cinemagoers. Almost everyone who went in the fifties remembers the ‘sweetheart’ of the ice cream sales, but never could recall her name. With a blonde hairstyle befitting screen idol Betty Grable, deep red ‘butterfly’ lips, and a complexion looking like a Max Factor model, she paraded her goods in the break between the films. ‘What a Carry On’: She lived at that time on the council estate at Marlpool, and later in life, she and her husband kept ‘The Gate Inn’ on Hartsay Hill, at Ripley. Her name was Dolly Elwell, and she kept those looks right up to her death in the Summer of 2002. Promotions for forthcoming programmes were popular at that time, and the ‘Ripley and Heanor News’ carried a photograph of Dolly dressed as a nurse, giving advance publicity to the film ‘Carry on Nurse’. She was photographed on Heanor Market Place, walking alongside Harold Brown the ‘Empire’ Projectionist, who was lying on a stretcher, wrapped in bandages; other staff carried hospital equipment. They were so good that Greta Bryan, who was carrying a bed-pan, found people were throwing money into it, thinking they were collecting for the hospital, just up the road. Front of House (The Entrance), was the most important asset to any cinema. It was here that first impressions created the ambience which made your audience believe they were entering another world, and that they were someone special. 33 ‘Old Joe’: I recall as a young boy being taken to the ‘Empire’, on my twice weekly visit, and the doors being opened by an old man, dressed in a brown peaked cap, with matching long coat. He was the ‘Commissionaire’, whose smart outfit, trimmed with gold braiding on pockets, lapels, and shoulders, and greeted patrons with a ‘Good evening’, as you entered the foyer. He was there from the days when ‘Eskay’, an associated company of Midland Empire Theatres owned the place. His name, which no one seems to remember now, was Joe Harrison, he came from Aldercar, near Langley Mill. During the daytime he worked at the local colliery, but in the evenings, he donned his uniform and white gloves, and became a totally different person. He was a bit of a threat to the children, but they respected him, they didn’t need a second telling to keep their voices down, or stop what they were doing. Once in a while his temper got the better of him, and the result was a little ‘clip’ on the ear, which restored the auditorium silence. Joe did the job for years, and when he finally died, he was never replaced, but here’s one person who will never forget him. ‘The Mystery Man’: The 'Cosy' never had a Doorman, they did however have a strange man, who I never got to know. His job was to call in during the morning, late evening, and just before the cinema closed, to stoke - up the coal burning boiler, which kept the cinema at an even temperature. ‘Minors and Miners’: There was some confusion between matinee performances at the ‘Cosy’, because on Wednesday afternoons they held a Miners Matinee, for people that worked on shifts, at the local coal mines. However at Bank Holiday times, and at the school holiday break in summer, they would hold a Minors Matinee, the term ‘Minor’ meaning a show for the younger person. I wonder if any other cinemas in the country did this. 34 Please go to the next web page..........