Matinee Idlers
Author:
Mary Cook
Mothers of young school-age
children whispered it over garden walls. The local Gaumont
cinema was running Saturday matinees for children between the
ages of eight and twelve. Housewives could get rid of their
offspring for the whole of Saturday morning at a cost of just
sixpence. What's more, we kids were equally enthusiastic.
For most of us growing up in England after the Second
World War, the cinema opened up whole new worlds and lifestyles
for us to aspire to. Clutching our sixpenny pieces, we stood in
line at the box office and were let in a few at a time to
prevent stampeding.
When a child celebrated a birthday, he was sent a card by
the management, together with tickets for himself and a friend
in the balcony seats. These seats cost nine pence normally!
For just one day a week, the dour cinema manager was
transformed into genial "Uncle Bill", our master of ceremonies.
An elderly woman crept out from a cavern beneath the stage,
where I suspected she lived, and began attacking the piano.
As one, we belted out our theme tune:
"We come along on Saturday morning, greeting everybody with a smile.
We come along on Saturday morning, knowing that it's well
worthwhile.
As members of the *GB Club we all intend to be
Good citizens when we grow up and champions of the free. (Yeah,
right!)
We come along on Saturday morning, greeting everybody with a
smile."
*Gaumont-British
"Follow the bouncing ball", we were told, as it hopped from one
word to the next on the screen.
The program was selected just for our age group. We were
shown cartoons, Westerns, musicals and slapstick comedies. There
was also a main feature "usually an adventure story" in serial
form.
Laurel and Hardy and Abbot and Costello were firm
favorites with most kids, along with the cartoons. But my own
favorite was Donald O'Connor, the engaging all-singing,
all-dancing young man who set my feet tapping.
Occasionally there were competitions. I'd waited for
weeks to take part in a yo-yo contest offering coveted prizes of
tennis rackets and cricket bats. As I lined up with my fellow
competitors, I dropped out in the first heat. If Viagra had been
invented then, my yo-yo would have been found in dire need of
it.
Stuffed full of post-war patriotic fervor by our
teachers, our patriotism stopped short at staying behind at the
end for the National Anthem. We'd greeted everybody with a
smile, now it was time to kick up our heels and skip out into
the sunlight to relive the on-screen adventures and relay them
to our long-suffering mothers.
About the Author:
Mary Cook is a UK-based freelance
writer and former newspaper reporter. Her articles, poems and
short stories have appeared in numerous publications, both in
print and online. Her main writing interests are humor, horror,
self-sufficient living, and the craft of writing.
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