This article originally appeared in Bioscope 102, with the letter from Keith Parkinson published in Bioscope 103. The illustrations are after the article and before the subsequent letter. Hover your mouse over the photos for captions and click for a larger image.

MEMORIES OF A FLEA-PIT

19th December 2006 marks (marked) the 25th anniversary of the closure of the Pavilion cinema, Ormskirk, Lancs. Although I provided the news to the Mercia Bioscope at the time, it was never reported. Here follow my reminiscences combined with such facts as I have been able to obtain.

Ormskirk, a market town presently of some 20,000 people, is situated about ten miles north east of Liverpool and seven miles south east of Southport. In the early days films were shown at the Institute, then in about 1911 the Pavilion (known as the ‘Pivvy’) was built in Moorgate for Lancashire Picturedromes Ltd. By 1927 the proprietor was E.W. Locke, of Liverpool, and the Institute had evidently ceased showing films. In 1935 competition arrived in the form of the 1000 - seat Regal and the following year the Pavilion was taken over by a Mr. F. Donaldson. In that same year Noal Orme became manager and later married Alice Winrow, one of the usherettes. The Regal bowed out in the mid 1960s in favour of a Tesco supermarket, leaving the Pavilion on its own again.

I had been commuting on a weekly basis between the Wirral and Blackburn, Lancs, via the Ormskirk bypass, since 1974 but it was not until 1977 that I ventured into the town to seek out the Pavilion. It was then being run by Mrs. Lily Prince, widow since 1959 of Arthur Prince who had taken it over in 1955 (he also ran the Imperial and Palace, Bootle, among the others he had inherited from his father, cinema pioneer George Prince).

The Pavilion was a typical example of cinema buildings erected between the passing of the Cinematograph Act of 1909 and the start of the First World War and was still structurally unaltered by the time I arrived. It had a characteristic though not especially ornate frontage and a rectangular auditorium with approximately 350 seats (500 originally) on a single, slightly raked floor and a barrel-vaulted ceiling. Tickets were bought prior to entering the building, via a hatch to the left of the main entrance. (When the wind blew, pound notes would be scattered all over the office behind !) When the cinema was not open to the public, a rickety wooden gate was unfolded across the entrance. On passing through the front doors, one could walk straight ahead down the central aisle of the auditorium or turn left into a passageway, passing the sales kiosk on the left, before turning right into the aisle down the left hand side of the auditorium. Or one could turn right into the passageway, passing the toilets, then turn left into the auditorium’s right-hand aisle. There was no foyer other than this passage. The sales kiosk was in fact a hatch from the same room which contained the paybox at the other end. This narrow room also served as the office, fridge room and staff room. From the passage on the right hand side of the entrance there was a door leading to a staircase, so steep that it was little more than a ladder, from which one emerged onto the roof before entering the projection room. Also leading from this passage were the toilets, containing just one pot for the ladies and one for the gents. There were no wash basins or toilet paper in either and the gents was always awash with an inch of water (or worse) which seeped into the passage carpet.

The projection room, above the entrance and behind the Pavilion roundel, contained Western Electric 206 (3A) soundheads (with two canvas belts driving a large flywheel) and Westar 2001 mechanisms. There was evidence that the previous mechanisms had been Kalee 7 or 8 and up to 1936 a Culkin sound system was listed in the Kine Year Books. It was remarkable to discover that this cinema, so basic in other ways, contained 4-track magnetic stereophonic sound reproducers; also equipment for MGM’s ‘Perspecta’ sound system. By this time, however, only the basic mono sound was needed or even operational, and much of the ancillary equipment was defunct or had been cannibalised.

The auditorium was lit by three large, rather curious and incongruous Chinese lantern -style houselights, but had no permanent form of heating. The previous gas heating system had been condemned or else the fuel bills had not been paid, I’m not sure which. The seating was in two price brackets : the rear half, priced at 85p, was in reasonable condition and contained some double seats; the front section, almost dropping to bits, cost 75p; there were reduced prices for children. The contoured screen curtains appeared to be a GB-Kalee installation of CinemaScope vintage, and, rather surprisingly, parted in the middle. The screen itself looked as if it had been keelhauled and had at some time been resprayed without the masking having been covered up. On closer inspection, it was also discovered to be covered with gardening staples, presumably fired by an elastic band by the younger element of the audience. There were four exit doors, two on each side of the auditorium, leading directly outside. On the left side, however, there was a lean-to canopy for the benefit of customers awaiting admittance. Through the bottom left exit one could also reach the switch room and another room containing the arc lamp rectifiers, above which someone had thoughtfully installed metal canopies to protect them from the leaking roof. Another room contained the emergency lighting battery. Either side of the stage there was a doorway and a short flight of stairs leading to a room on one side and a door to the shallow stage on the other. The rooms had presumably been dressing rooms for cine-variety, but now contained only rubbish and reeked of dry rot.

At the time of my first visit the auditorium was being heated by a calor gas radiant heater which was removed prior to the start of the film, after which the atmosphere soon cooled to freezing point. After a short time a paraffin blow heater, such as was used in garage workshops or warehouses, was hired. This was installed next to the rectifier and ducted into the hall. The initial equipment was badly designed or maintained and filled the auditorium with fumes which made one’s eyes water and gradually obscured the view of the picture. This was soon replaced by another model which worked on the same principle but was actually quite satisfactory, except for the audible drone and the fact that people forgot to fill it up from time to time.

The projectionists, all part-time, were Tony Winstanley, who was the mainstay, Billy Stuart who did Friday nights and Lil, one of Mrs. Prince’s daughters, who filled in and did some of the matinees; the cinema was always closed on Sunday. Tony, who worked for a Ford garage by day, was moved to another establishment and I soon got sucked in to help. Another enthusiast, Harry Woodcock, who was caretaker at a couple of mothballed cinemas in Wigan, also participated. Being of a rather non-technical disposition and a little highly-strung he could, on occasions of breakdowns or such disasters, be found on his knees in the projection box crying out, alternately, “Hail Mary” and “Shittin’ hell”. Within a short time we were joined by a couple of lads from the nearby Focus cinema at Skelmersdale, then a friend of mine from another cinema did the odd day and between us we kept it going till the end, joined for the last few weeks by David Raybould, a projectionist who had worked there in earlier years.

I often ended up with Monday and Thursday nights and was regularly called in at the last minute to do Saturdays when others cried off. Mondays, and frequently Thursdays, were in those days the start of a new programme, often a double feature. It would be quite a rush to get from my day job in Blackburn via a 45 minute journey to Ormskirk and then start making up the programme in time to be on the screen for about 6.15pm on some occasions. This usually meant getting a couple of reels onto spools, starting the show and then making up the rest as I went along. What with film prints of variable condition, a cement splicer and the adverts and trailers to assemble as well, it was usually well into the main feature before I had finished making up ! If the heating in the auditorium was erratic, it had nothing on the projection room. It was freezing in winter and I had to take the precaution of wearing about three pairs of socks and a pair of fell boots. Evening meals, when time allowed, were obtained at ‘the Grease’, as the local chip shop was called.

We projectionists were all enthusiasts and skilled in our various ways. I, for one, always felt that on each occasion I left the cinema better in some way than when I arrived. The projector illumination left a lot to be desired (at matinee shows in winter, the sunshine low in the sky could obliterate the picture when the front doors were opened) and eventually I replaced the erratic Monarc arclamps with a pair of Peerless Magnarcs which I had cobbled together out of spare parts. There were three circuits of footlights which I put into working order using light bulbs and gels which I had scrounged from somewhere. This was the pattern, especially towards the end; carbon rods, light bulbs, trailer titles and various odds and ends were begged from other cinemas where I was working at the time. One problem which was never dealt with was the two poster frames either side of the entrance. First one was vandalised or fell apart, then the other. After that there was no front-of-house publicity except for a small category board above the paybox window.

The annual licensing inspection was always an anxious time. There were light bulbs to be replaced, carpets to be tacked down and the emergency lighting battery (whose cells gradually collapsed one by one) to be put to rights; not to mention repairing the seats. The electrical certificate was the main problem. The authorities would not be satisfied that the installation was safe (which it, er…, wasn’t) and eventually remedial work was insisted upon. Luckily the local authority made a grant towards this. The work was done and although the lights in the ladies’ toilets and other circuits were subsequently found to have been disconnected, we did at least have an electrical certificate. Another dubious benefit was that the switch for the cleaner’s lights was now positioned next to Mrs. Prince’s seat at the paydesk. Her solution to any uproar in the auditorium (typically on a Friday night) was to switch these lights on. Unfortunately she didn’t always remember to switch them off again. Even after the work was finished the amber footlights still blew their fuse on a fortnightly basis, for reasons I never discovered.

Vermin became a problem. A black-and-white kitten was employed for their disposal, but escaped to what I hoped was a better life. He was replaced by a little tabby, who also had to spend about 20 hours a day on his own. Many times I stayed after the end of the show just to play with the cat ! Eventually the poor creature was given to the RSPCA and I hope that he, too, found a better home.

Other fond memories include the occasion when all the felt was blown off the roof on the right hand side and for a period we had to seat the audience on the left. Then, on a (fairly rare) busy night I was ushering two old ladies to their seats. “But there’s no seat here !” - “Oh, so there isn’t; I’m terribly sorry madam”. Then there was the time that the screen curtains split, due to the rufflette tape having hardened and cracked. I had to link the hooks with cord to stop it getting any worse, but the curtain was never repaired.

In due course Mrs. Prince went into hospital for the first of what turned into three hip-replacement operations (one was a failure and had to be re-done). We muddled through with Mrs. Prince’s daughters taking it in turn to manage. We all mucked in and for several weeks I compiled the newspaper advertisements. But it was the beginning of the end. I believe the daughters may have given an ultimatum and a decision was made.

Mrs. Prince was back in harness for the last few months, but a closure date was announced. The usual expressions of regret were made in the local paper, combined with people’s reminiscences.

The last night was Saturday 19th December 1981, with a double-bill of ‘Friday 13th Part 2′ and ‘The Warriors’, an all x-certificate programme. The snow was so deep that I couldn’t open the projection room emergency exit in order to clear it from the roof and stop the water dripping into the foyer passage. The performance came to an end, the National Anthem was played specially and the audience of 30 or so filed out for the last time. My four-year association with the Ormskirk Pavilion came to an end; it had been hard work, but it was good fun. And daughter Lil kindly confided that if it hadn’t been for me, the cinema wouldn’t have lasted as long.

It could have been my first professional cinema opportunity. I approached Mrs Prince about the chance of taking over. Our respective solicitors were put in touch, but the required information was never passed from hers to mine. The prevarication continued and the lease expired before it could be transferred to me. It was not to be the only time that my ambitions of taking over particular cinemas were (perhaps deliberately) thwarted. In this case maybe it was just as well. I was newly married and the time and money required to turn the business round would have been tremendous. But if someone could have renovated the cinema, I believe they would have had a good business for at least 20 years before the multiplexes encroached.

A week or so later I returned to remove the Peerless arcs and a few seats (including a double !) for my private cinema. The snow was thawing and I could hear water dripping at various places in the building.

In due course the cinema was incorporated into the indoor market next door and an upper floor created which became a pub / club, known initially as ‘Brahms and Liszt’. I believe it still stands.

C. Morris, November 2006 (version two)

Ormskirk Pavilion from Keith Parkinson, St Helens

Charles Morris’s Memories of a Fleapit, Mercia Bioscope 102, differ from my own memories of that market town cinema, which I visited in the 1950s and 1960s. Of course twenty years makes a big difference. The Pavilion regularly played to almost full houses and it was a good idea to book seats for Saturday evening performances.

I lived in Rufford, a small village some six miles distant from Ormskirk. My local cinema was the Derby in Burscough Bridge. The Derby was just three miles away from home and with a thrice-weekly change of programme it served most of my picture-going needs in those days of double bills. My cinema visits to Ormskirk only occurred once every two or three weeks. When the Derby closed in the early 1960s I used to travel to Ormskirk to visit either the Regal or the Pavilion. When the former became a Tesco supermarket that left the Pivvy, which happened to be my favourite of the two anyway.

Despite Charles’s memories, the gent’s toilets were always in a decent state. I have memories of the CinemaScope experience being enhanced by the striking effects of stereophonic sound in what was a comparatively small auditorium. There were other added sound effects from time to time. That is because there was then a main railway line from Liverpool north to Preston and beyond which ran some way at the back of the Pavilion, Although it was nothing like The Smallest Show on Earth experience it was still possible to check whether or not British Railways was adhering to the published timetable. Well into the 1960s there were also Sunday evening, for one night only, presentations. The Pavilion must have changed to Monday to Saturday only in the 1970s. At least it never disgraced itself by going over to bingo.

I passed the Pavilion a couple of days ago. As Charles stated, it is now a Brahms and Liszt nightclub. The back cover of the last Bioscope shows the cinema’s final programme - a double bill of Friday the 13th Part 2 and The Warriors. Later this month the newly formed Ormskirk Film Society screens its first film. Attendance for the inaugural presentation is free. That film happens to be The Warriors.