Throwback Thursday: 10 cinemas in Cork... any advance on that?

Regular Throwback Thursday contributor Micheál Kenefick recalled for us last week his happy childhood and teenage days of going to De Pictures in Cork, and we also heard from Nicola Drummy, whose grandfather, Jackie Drummy, was the projectionist at the Lido cinema in Blackpool in the early 1960s, and was hoping that some readers might remember him.

Finbar Bevan, from Kilnap Place in Farranree, was delighted to read these memories and wrote to tell us about his own memories of the Lido.

Although he didn’t recall Jackie the projectionist, he was certainly enthralled by the whole experience of just being there.

“It was the hub of our entertainment in cinema, as we grew up in Spangle Hill (now Farranree) in the 1950s,” said Finbar.

“But how to get the money to go there was the big problem, as cash was very scarce then.

“At that time in the Lido every week there was a feature called the ‘following up one’, (ie, a serial), in which you would see the good guy fighting with the baddie on top of a stagecoach, with the girl inside the coach and the horses bolting for a steep cliff with nobody holding the reins.

“Well, we just had to get the money for next week, to see what happened next, so plans were set out how to get the whole six of us in.

“If it was the right time of year, we got a bucket and went out into the countryside (which was a lot nearer to the city back then) to gather blackberries. When the bucket was full, we would take it down to Parnell Place in town, two of us carrying the heavy load, to Ogilvie & Moore, and receive half a crown for our troubles. Thirty pennies, if you like.

“As the entry fee to the Lido was fourpence, we had a whole six pennies left after the film was over, and one of the lads might have an extra few pence, so it was into the ‘Pantry Shop’ for a glass of raza and a cake, while we made more plans to see how we could make money for the following week, as we simply had to find out how the good guy was going to save the girl and stop that stagecoach going over the cliff.

“This would go on for three months, and every week somehow we would make the money. There were other ways to make that money of course, and this was just one of them.”

Finbar continued: “You mentioned jam jars instead of cash being paid to get into the Lido.

“Well, Jo, I was born in the 1940s, and going to the Lido at about the age of four with my older brothers, and they told me about how they got into there with glass jars of all kinds. As they explained to me when I was a bit older, glass was very short in the war years, and so the Lido collected the jars and sold them to the fruit factory. Practical logic, you would say.”

Now that’s a very interesting fact, Finbar, and slots another piece into the overall jigsaw. Shortage of glass during wartime, of course!

Finbar continues with his recollections about how to make money in those straitened times.

“Another way we collected was from dumps belonging to Harrington Paints, Sunbeam, or M. Laundries. At the back of these factories, we would hunt for Harpic tins as they had aluminium tops to them, and sold them to a scrap yard in Blackpool.

“Also, any size of glass jars or glass bottles, which we washed in a river flowing by (the Kiln, would that be?) and sold to Ogilvie and Moore, a penny for a pound jar and tuppence for a two pound jar. The bottles we would take to any shop and get a penny a jar.

“That gave us the money for the Lido, to see the ‘following up films’ and to see the good fella get out of an impossible situation. Gripping stuff, you could say, but he was our hero, no mistake.”

Finbar is full of memories of those days when money was tight.

“We wanted to go back again for the ‘following-up film’ the next week, of course, but how to get the money this time, you might ask?

“Well, one of our buddies’ fathers worked in a factory where all the material they worked with came in timber pallets, and his father would bring home timber boxes and we would help to break up the boxes and chop them into small bundles to make kindling to start a fire.

“We tied them with string, and sold them around the houses for a penny, or tuppence a bundle.

“It was hard work, but worth it for the Lido the next week!

“More stories to tell, but sin scéal eile...”

Well, we hope you write to us with more of these wonderful tales from hard-working childhood days, Finbar. We do wonder if today’s kids have half the get-up-and-go character that you and your pals had on 1950s Spangle Hill!

Another reader, Tim Morley, responded rapidly to our list of all the cinemas in Cork back in the glory days.

“I think there were 10. I can only add the Coliseum on MacCurtain Street, and The Lee (Cork’s smallest, with just 200 seats) between the GPO and Cash’s.

“Oh and the Imperial on Oliver Plunkett Street, facing the rear part of The Munster Arcade. It later became a motor-cycle shop (c’mon Jo, you must know it!).”

Tim adds: “And of course the mention of the Rank man striking that gong at the start of one of their movies. Did you know that has a strong Cork connection?

“The powerful figure was Bombardier Billy Wells, the middleweight UK boxing champion who def+eated ‘our own’ Packie Mahony, breaking his jaw...

“Packie kept fighting though, and now you know why Ernest Shackleton opted for another Irishman on his travels towards the South Pole. We’re tough, we are!”

Now we didn’t know about that Cork connection, Tim, so thank-you.

Anybody else remember The Imperial cinema on Oliver Plunkett Street? If so, tell us!

Throwback Thursday reader Mike English was quick off the mark too. “Re your list of Cork cinemas in last Thursday’s column, the Lee on Winthrop Street is missing,” he said.

“It was right across from Cudmore’s fruit shop, where you could also buy chocolate, and I can still smell that lovely rich scent of fruit that you got when passing the shop.

“The Lee, as I recall, also organised shows on Sunday afternoons over a series of weeks, and you had to become a member to attend.

“I remember Joseph Locke performed a few songs there during an interval one afternoon, and Blazing Away was one of them of course.

“The same membership rule applied to The Cameo (the one near Collins’ Barracks) where you had to register in advance for a ‘season’ ticket.

“Was the Ritz renamed The Classic following renovation at some stage? I remember that they specialised in ‘foreign’ films with subtitles or dubbing.

“Back then, the cinema shows started at 3pm and ran right through to closing time, around 11pm. You could join the show midway through the ‘story’ and stay until that part came around again. The plots weren’t that complicated so it was easy to make sense of it all. After all, most of it was cowboys chasing Indians, or vice versa, or Laurel and Hardy, The Three Stooges, Abbott and Costello, or maybe Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis.”

Another regular contributor, Tim Cagney, enjoyed Micheál Kenefick’s recent discussion of listening to the radio back in the day, and contributed his own memories, particularly of one favourite show.

“Reading about sponsored radio programmes from bygone days reminds me of listening to the Urney broadcast, which usually could be heard on a Saturday, at around lunchtime (or dinner-time, as we knew it then).

“This was during the 1960s, with Gay Byrne as the presenter, whose dulcet tones reminded everyone that ‘Any Time Is Urney Time’.

“Urney Chocolates were based in Tallaght, Dublin, having been founded in 1919 by Eileen and Harry Gallagher in Urney, Co. Tyrone (they moved to Dublin some 40 years later).

“The firm produced many popular confections, including the iconic ‘Two Plus Two’ bar, which featured two different fondants inside a chocolate coating.

“I also seem to remember a creation known as The Big 5 Bar, which was somewhat similar to the celebrated Mars Bar, and might well have been a challenge to it. Unfortunately, the price was a tad excessive (five pence, in line with the name) so my consumption of said bars was a bit restricted.

“They even made a small sweet to rival the iconic Rolo. Urney’s creation was oval in shape and – ingeniously – they called them Rovals.”

Tim continued: “The radio programme featured the exploits of Dantro the Planetman, a work of early science-fiction devised by an American company called Alladium Radio Productions, around 1950.

“Dantro was a sort of galactic James Bond, who was employed by the fictional League of Planets. His job was to traverse the cosmos, keeping law and order.

“His favourite mode of transport was a spacecraft called The Planateer, which was capable of a speed of 5,000 miles per second.

“The League of Planets frowned upon the use of violence, except in cases of self-defence, so Dantro always carried a ray-gun, to deflect any harm to his person, generated by the baddies.

“The production was both realistic and gripping and kept me and my buddies glued to the wireless for months.”

Where there’s success, there’s a marketing opportunity, as Tim recalls.

“One day, the marketing gurus at Urney hit on an idea. If you could send them the wrappers from six bars of any of their confections, you would in return get a Dantro Badge.

“Of course, I decided I had to have one, and so began the necessary purchases.

“One of the many varieties of chocolate bar Urney produced was one divided into about six segments, each one filled with a different-favoured fondant. They called this confection Milk Tray and I think they cost around twopence.

“Before too long, I had acquired (and eaten) six of such delicacies and dispatched the wrappers to Tallaght.

“A few weeks later, I received a box in the post. Inside was the highly-desired badge, together with a booklet on the history of chocolate manufacture (quite interesting, in itself).

“The badge bore an image of the aforementioned hero, resplendent in red astronautic battle-dress, against a pale green background, and armed with two ray-guns (not just one).

“I proudly pinned the badge to the lapel of my school blazer and wore it for ages.

“I had feared the school authorities might frown on such a display, but – surprisingly enough – no such restriction was imposed. I remember being asked about it by one teacher, who was astounded to learn that I had consumed six bars of chocolate in order to gain the adornment!”

Oh lovely, Tim! And you’ve even sent us an image of the badge!

Who else remembers Dantro? (We know the nickname was applied to many teachers back then!). Send us your own memories.

Email jokerrigan1@gmail.com or leave a message on our Facebook page: www.facebook.com/echolivecork.