The Ashton Road Gang Chapter 10. October Part 1.

Chapter Ten.

                                 The Cinema.

          Mum shouted up the stairs. "If you are going to the Cinema this morning you had better get up. Now!"

I hurried out bed and into the bathroom. The gang would be waiting for me and I did not want to be late. We nearly always went to the Cinema on a Saturday morning.

"There’s no need to gobble your toast that quickly," frowned Mum. "The films don’t begin until 10 o clock. You’ve got plenty of time."

I slowed down a little. Mum did not understand, that part of the fun of going to the Cinema was choosing which one to grace with our presence and then deciding on the route to take to get there.

"Your sixpence is on the sideboard," said Mum as she straightened her hat in front of the mirror. "Don’t forget to shut the front door when you go. I’ve locked the back door already. If I am not in when you get home, I’ll be in the Chapel."

The ladies of the Chapel took it in turns to keep the place clean and tidy. This week it was Mum’s turn. She took it very seriously and went down every day. As far as I could see, the place was only open on a Sunday and then everyone who went wore their best clothes. I just could not see how it got dirty.

She looked at me from under her hat brim. "There is no need to break the glass in the front door to get in this week. Either come down to Chapel or sit in the back yard. Right?"

"OK Mum. See you later.

"Behave yourself!"

Mum always said that.

"Yes, Mum." I always said that. I did try.

The front door shut. Thankfully I stuffed the rest of my toast in my mouth and slurped up my tea. By the time I had put the cup and plate in the sink she was out of sight down the road. Carefully I closed the front door behind me as instructed.

Bob and Simon were already sat on the wall of No.72, waiting for me. The others had not arrived yet.

"Got your money?" asked Bob, jingling the coppers in his pocket.

“Yep!" I replied. "Where’s the rest of them then?"

"Not out yet," said Simon. "If they don’t get a move on I am going without them."

Noddy arrived followed by Stew and Peter.

"Is Grubby coming?" asked Peter.

"He said he would try, but you know what his Mum is like," answered Bob with a shrug of the shoulders.

Every Saturday morning it was the same poor Grubby had to beg, wheedle and coax his mother into giving him the money for the Cinema.

"I wonder why she makes it so hard for him?" I mused out loud. "I mean, she nearly always gives it to him in the end."

"Grown-ups do some strange things," said Stew wisely.

Grubby turned up wiping away a stray tear with the back of his hand.

"Tough was it?" asked Simon.

Grubby sighed.

"But did you get it?" asked Bob.

Grubby held up a sixpenny piece with a triumphant grin. Tears were not something most of us admitted to shedding, but Grubby could turn them on and off at will. It was very useful sometimes, as long as he did not overdo it.

 "Great!" said Peter. "Where are we going then? The Royal?"

"Not likely!" said Stew. "It is too far. It’s only worth going that far if there is a special film on. Anyway, it’s too posh. You have to sit still and watch or they toss you out.."

"I’m not going to the Scala," stated Bob. "Last time we were lucky not to get thumped."

"Chicken!" sneered Simon, but not really nastily. None of us were that brave when it came to fighting, especially with the kind of people who went to the Scala on a Saturday morning. They were the toughest of the tough they were.

"I agree with Bob," I said. "I can’t see the fun of spending money to fight my way in, fight while I am in there and then fight my way out again."

"My Dad says it’s a flea pit," said Stew.

Grubby produced a matchbox. He opened it and showed a large, fortunately, dead flea. "Scala, last time." he said proudly.

"Put it away," shuddered Bob. "It is making my head itch."

What about the Palace?" asked Stew. "We haven’t been there for ages."

"No! Definitely not," I said firmly.

"What's wrong with the Palace?" asked Bob, in surprise. "The films are usually very good. There’s a Tarzan film on this week according to the paper."

I can give you four very good reasons for not going there this week," I told him.

"One, my cousin John. Two my cousin Mary. Three Joan Lord and Four, Our Mary."

"Are they going to the Palace this morning?" asked Peter.

"They said they were, " I replied. "Our Mary is bad enough on her own but with those three........." I could not think of a strong enough word to describe my sister’s friend and our cousins.

"I know what you mean," said Simon. "That cousin John of yours is a right trouble maker. I’ll never forgive him for telling Mrs. Blunt that it was me who tied her door knocker to her garden gate."

"I remember that," said Noddy with a grin. "She spent twenty minutes trying to open the front door." He laughed. "Who gave you the idea? It is too good for you to have thought it up for yourself."

"It was John’s idea in the first place," said Simon. "I can still remember the good hiding. Anyway, I want to go to The Odeon. I’ve got an idea for getting into the Sixpennies.

I should explain. In our town at that time there were four Cinemas. They all charged the same price for entry. There were three sets of seats on a Saturday morning costing, three pence, six pence and nine pence. A nine pence ticket got you onto the Balcony, but only girls and under sevens were allowed up there. The ground floor was split into two sections, divided by a white line across the aisles. This line was guarded by fierce, sharp-eyed usherettes. There was an aisle between the last seats of the cheap Threepenny seats in the lower part of the Cinema and the Sixpenny seats in the upper half. This aisle was patrolled by another usherette. We normally sat in the Three penny seats.

We could have paid six pence, but that would have left nothing with which to buy ourselves some sweets and an ice lolly. The only one in the gang who could have asked his parents for more money was Simon. Mind you, even if we could have got more pocket money, we would still have sat in the cheapest seats and tried to get into the more expensive ones. It was a game, a challenge, like the notice in the Park. "You've always got a plan," said Noddy.

"And they never work either." added Stew with a grin.

"Well, I am not scrabbling around on the floor looking for half tickets this time." said Peter. "Last time I put my hand in something very nasty, and we never found any."

To show how much entry money had been paid, the tickets had the amount printed on them. To get past the usherettes on the dividing line a ticket had to be shown. If you lost your ticket, you had to stay in the Three penny seats, no matter what you had paid to get into the Cinema.

"Charlie Jones scheme was good though, wasn’t it?" remarked Bob.

"Never heard of him!" said Peter. "What did he do?"

"Course, you missed for a few weeks, didn’t you?" said Noddy.

Peter nodded. "Mum needed the money for new shoes for me."

"Well," I said." Charlie noticed that the tickets were always the same colour, week in, week out."

"So what?" asked Peter.

"So, when everyone threw away their ticket when they left the Cinema at the end, he picked up a sixpenny one and kept it ‘til the next week. Right?"

Peter nodded.

I went on. "Then he paid three pence to get in as usual, but showed the sixpenny ticket to the usherette to get to the back."

"Hey that’s fantastic. Can we do it?" said Peter.

I shook my head.

"Something went wrong?" asked Peter disappointedly.

Charlie had to go and boast about it at school didn’t he!" I said.

"You should have seen it," interrupted Stew. "It was a scream.

The next week nearly everybody had a sixpenny ticket to show." He giggled at the memory of the chaos. "The sixpenny seats were so full not everyone could find a seat and the three pennies almost empty. The usherettes were gong hairless trying to sort it out."

Bob gurgled at the memory of it. We were among the lucky ones who had been allowed to stay in the sixpenny seats. I had had the foresight to iron the old tickets so they looked new when we presented them.

"What have they done to stop it happening again?" asked Peter.

"They now have a different colour for each Saturday. Charlie is having to collect one every week and is waiting for them to repeat. He could finish up with a shopping bag full before that happen," said Simon.

"Crafty lot," said Peter. "Anyway, Simon, what’s your plan?"

"Wait and see," he said with his nose in the air.

"It won’t work." said Noddy.

"Time?" asked Grubby, putting a stop to any argument that might have broken out.

Simon looked at his watch. "We had better get a move on or we’ll be right at the back of the queue."

"Through the alleys?" I asked.

"Yes!" everyone chorused.

"Right then, follow me!" I shouted as I charged off.

In a few minutes we were outside the Sweet shop next door to the Odeon. There was a queue to get served. We joined it and waited our turn.

"There’s a super Tarzan film on at the Palace!" said Simon in a loud voice.

"And there’s no queue either." I added seeing what he was trying to do.

"Shut up you two!" said a lad in the queue. "It won’t’ work this week."

I recognised him He was one of the people we had fooled the previous week into leaving the queue. We had told everyone that the Palace was giving away balloons. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled sweetly at him. He could not complain too much. He had once sent everyone racing off to see the Fire Brigade deal with an unexploded bomb. When we reached the counter I bought two pence worth of Hundreds and Thousands. These were puffed grains of rice coloured and coated in sugar. I kept a penny back for an ice-lolly inside the Cinema.

The queue to get in the Cinema was long. Stew and I started at the front while the others saved us a place at the back.

"How many?" asked Bob when we reached them.

"Not too bad," I told him. "We’ll miss having to sit on the front row easily."

He heaved a sigh of relief.

The reason for wishing to avoid the front row of seats was simple self-protection, as in a way was trying to get into the six penny seats. The nearer the front you sat, the more missiles from behind. This barrage was made up of orange peel, lolly sticks, sweet papers and bits of lolly ice. Nothing particularly dangerous, but it was messy and unpleasant. We did add our own bits to the barrage. You could not do that from the front row very easily. Right at the back was the best place of all. There was no-one behind you and the girls on the Balcony could not drop things on you either. There was one heck of a rush every week in the Sixpences to get to the back row.

At last, the doors were opened and the queue surged forward.

The Odeon was managed by Uncle Tom, as he styled himself. He was a short, round figure of a man who always wore evening dress. He always sported a large red carnation in his button hole. He smelt strongly of flowers, cigars and whisky. To complete the picture, he wore a straw hat with a black ribbon round the brim. I think the style of hat was called a ‘boater.’ I cannot ever remember seeing him without it perched on the back of his head.

Until the film began, Uncle Tom prowled up and down the foyer, near to the Ticket office, making sure that everybody actually paid to get in.

"Single file, single file!" he used to shout, manhandling back into place anyone who dared to step out of line.

Five minutes shouting and shoving later we were in, clutching our precious tickets. The noise inside the Cinema was well above the pain thresh-hold, but I did not notice. It was like that every week. Until the films began that is, then it got louder or quieter, depending on the film.

"Come on!" screamed Simon. "To the back."

We followed him up the aisle as far as we could, until we found a row with enough seats together for us all to sit down. We had to move a couple of smaller lads, but at least we were altogether. Then we waited for the show to begin.

"I really wanted to be a bit farther back than this," shouted Simon.

"Well, you’ll just have to wait until people start going to the toilet." I shouted back.

Simon nodded.

"And you’ll probably have to sit on your own."

Simon shrugged his shoulders. It was nicer to sit with your friends, but it was not always possible. If you were late arriving you just had to sit where there was room.

The lights dimmed and the first film began. The change in noise from screaming kids to the familiar music of a Tom and Jerry cartoon was instant. The cartoon was very popular so everyone stopped shouting and watched. The start of the films though was the signal for half the audience to get up and go to the toilet. "Let’s go," said Simon. It was an unwritten rule that if you left your seat, unguarded by a friend then it was anyone's for the taking. Slowly but surely Simon and I worked our way back. With some luck and persuasion, both friendly and not so friendly we managed to keep together and find seats at the end of a row, about three rows in front of the white line.

          "This is close enough," said Simon.

"Good!" said Bob, who had managed to follow us unnoticed.

"I don’t think you would get any further back without fighting."

It needed a certain amount of toughness and cheek to acquire and keep a seat this far back in the three pennies. We settled down to watch a Three Stooges adventure.

A disturbance behind us took our attention from the screen.

"What is it?" asked Noddy. He and Grubby had fought their way back to the row in front of us.

"Someone has tried to climb over the back of the seats into the six pennies. The usherettes have taken him down to the front row." said Bob who was closest.

"Could have told him that wouldn’t work!" snorted Simon.

"Watch!" growled Grubby. He liked to get his money’s worth out of the films. I suppose you could not blame him. He had to work very hard to get there.

We watched the screen. Well, I did, until Simon nudged me and whispered. "I’m off, watch, if it works then you can follow me."

I nodded.

Simon got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl up the aisle. He waited, crouched in the shadow of the seat until the usherette was busy with a group of children who had tickets, then he continued his crawl. It seemed to be working. He crossed the white line.

Then disaster struck. Simon did not notice that the girl who sold the ice-cream was coming down the aisle ready for the interval. She could not see him because of the tray which she carried in front of her, slung from her shoulders. To me, who could see it all, the accident appeared to occur in slow motion.

Simon put his hand forward, the girl trod on it. Simon screamed and leapt up. The girl screamed. Simon’s head connected with the bottom of the tray. The tray went up. Simon went down, clutching his head. The contents of the tray flew all over the place.

For a few seconds nobody moved. Then the hundred and fifty children nearest to the scene, gave a whoop and started scrambling for the ice-creams, lolly-ices and cold drinks now all over the floor and seats.

I watched Simon slip away in the fuss into the Sixpences. I started to follow, but the crush round the spilt tray was too thick to get through. Sadly, I returned to my seat clutching a lolly-ice or three. The gang slipped into the seats next to me, while their former occupants were otherwise occupied.

By the time the usherette had picked up the girl and stopped the riot there was not a single item from her tray to be seen. There was, however, a very happy bunch of children getting ready to enjoy their ill-gotten gains as soon as the lights went up for the interval.

I could see Simon sitting about three rows back in the six pennies, sucking his fingers, but he had a triumphant smirk on his face. There was no point in trying to join him as the film ended and the interval began.

The lights went up and so did the noise level. The surviving ice-cream sellers marched down the aisles selling their wares. They did not sell many on my side of the Cinema. Just to show willing I bought a penny ice lolly. They were not very nice to eat, but the ice, once you had sucked the flavour out of it, was just right for stuffing down the neck of anyone I did not like. The flat stick down the middle, with others collected from the floor, could be made into a very satisfactory glider. I made one and watched it float through the air to land on someone’s head five rows in front. Then a lump of ice hit me on the back of my neck. The interval was well under way.