| We had a new electric wireless about 1930. After the ‘crystal and cats whisker’ sets, radios had been run on two batteries, a dry one and a wet one, these had to be charged once a week. (Wildblood’s down the village did this for sixpence). We did not have one of these, but when the new trouble free electric ones appeared, a plug was fixed to the wall in the corner of the living room, (run from the lighting wiring), no ‘power’ wiring, we then switched to instant music! The set was in a wooden case with a silk and fretwork front, the brand was Lotus, but there were lots of different brands, Ecko, Phillips, Ferguson, H.M.V. all claiming to be bettor than the rest. The programme that I remember most clearly was at five fifteen. ‘Henry Hall’s Dance Band, with Les Allen singing. About this time Bing Crosby was appearing in films and entertaining the masses with his special type of singing, it was called crooning. With the advent of wireless, ‘crooners’ were trying their luck everywhere. Les Allen was a great favourite, and of course, after hearing him sing ‘Play to me Gypsy, ‘Blue Moments’, etc, we wanted the sheet music. Lots of people had a piano, and someone in the family who could play, so that when the latest hits were being heard every day on the wireless, the copies of the words and music were rolling out in vast numbers from the music publishers. Sixpence a copy with a picture of the singer on the front! Dance bands became the chief form of entertainment. Each had their own ‘ signature’ tune. Henry Hall’s was ‘Here’s to the next time’, Ambrose, ‘When day is done’, Maurice Winnick, ‘The sweetest music this side of heaven’, Roy Fox, ‘Whispering’, Geraldo, ‘Lady of Spain’. These were just a few who could be heard at some time of every night bringing their new music and songs into everyone’s home. Ludo, Snakes and Ladders, cards, and tiddly-winks were either banished altogether or games were arranged to fit in with what was on the wireless. Saturday nights saw the start of an exciting programme called ‘In Town Tonight’. Eric Coates’ ‘Knightsbridge March’ was played to introduce it, then the sound of traffic, and in the background a plaintive voice was heard calling, ‘Violets, lovely violets, who’ll buy my violets?” This was to establish the fact that you were hearing the sound of the London streets! Then, the announcer in a very loud voice, called, STOP! Total silence prevailed, then he continued, saying, “Once again we silence the roar of London to bring you some of the interesting people who are ‘In Town Tonight’. Great stuff this! No present day ‘Dallas’ fans wait more eagerly for Saturday night than we did then. A few of the artists I remember, Jeanne de-Casalis played the part of Mrs. Feather, a rather stupid lady giving all the wrong answers to a telephone conversation. Elsie and Doris Waters, calling themselves ‘Gert and Daisy’ supposedly two suburban housewives talking about their respective families especially husbands Bert and Wally. Always a sprinkling of crooners, both sexes. The Western Brothers, Kenneth and George had a very clever satirical act ,’Songs at the Piano’ it was called. The songs were very witty and topical. Stanley Holloway often delivered one of his monologues. ‘Albert and the Lion’, or ‘Sam’, and, ‘Pick up thee musket’, quickly became catchphrases that everyone adopted. Christopher Stone sometimes played a selection of records, he must have been the first ‘disc jockey’. There were a lot of half hour programmes by cinema organists, and the atmosphere of the Granada, Tooting; the Regal, Clapham; even Reginald Dixon from the Tower Ballroom in Blackpool, was brought into our homes, astonishing us all by the wonder of wireless! Cur light reading matter consisted of comics, ‘Chicks Own’, ‘Rainbow’, ‘Tiger Tim’, are three that I remember, then following those, came ‘Schoolgirls Own’, and ‘The Schoolgirl’. These were devoted to the activities of a group of schoolgirls in a mythical boarding school. The boys had Billy Bunter and Harry Wharton and Co, at Greyfriars, in their magazine. We became very involved with the characters in the stories, there was usually a timid shy one who nurtured a secret ambition to ‘shine for the school’. Then by a fluke of circumstances she was called on to play in the end of term hockey match, the star player having sprained her ankle or gone down with measles. The episode concluded with her holding aloft the coveted trophy amid the adulation of her chums. Milly used to have Schoolgirl every week and I had Schoolgirls Own, we changed copies with each other so that you could say that we had good value for twopence! When I went to Manchester, Doreen had always saved copies of the ‘Picturegoer’ for me. This was a magazine entirely devoted to photographs and information, (no doubt about 50% untrue) about the stars. I suppose I saw more films than most of my friends through going to Manchester so often. Our nearest cinema was the ‘Valentine’ at Kidsgrove. It was a poor imitation of the luxurious city cinemas. There was one in Tunstall called ‘Barbers Palace’, I never went there because ‘Barbers’ was reputed to be dirty. A story was often told that old man Barber, a local businessman who owned the cinema, stood in front of the auditorium one night and said, “They tell me there’s bugs in ere, well, yo brote ’em in, yo tek em ite”. A local cinema we did go to was the ‘Regal’ at Butt lane. It was a wooden building, spotlessly clean, decorated inside and out by the proprietor and his wife and family who were employed in the ‘box office’ and as usherettes. It had a very family atmosphere, the films were good, a film shown in Hanley or Crewe, would usually be on at Butt lane a few months later. This was from about 1932 onwards. Mum and I used to walk along the A34, then down the bank to the pictures. Coming home we walked through Butt lane down to Red Bull. Sometimes we caught the bus from Red Bull if the weather had turned nasty, but we usually walked both ways. The price of the seat was ninepence, (sixpence right at the front). Queues were very orderly, Sam, the projectionist stood with outstretched arms letting in a few at a time, when the queue was long, for a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers film. When everyone was inside, before the film could commence, Sam ran down the centre aisle and disappeared through a trapdoor under the stage. Everyone clapped then, but there was no rowdyism, and the only occasion that I remember anyone making any untoward comment was once, during a very dramatic film in which the heroine and her mother had been tried beyond endurance by a very overbearing father. The daughter was preparing a meal and the mother said, “Oh dear, your father will not like the potatoes like that, you know he likes to have them peeled.” A loud voice came from the audience, “Well make the bugger peel em.” It echoed the sentiments of everyone, and caused a lot of laughter. Among the women’s magazines were: ‘Home Chat’, ‘Home Notes’, ‘Womans Pictorial’ and ‘Womans Weekly’, this last seems to have kept to much the same format as in those days. Our daily paper was the ‘Daily Dispatch’, and as I have said, the Sunday paper was the ‘Empire News’. Both had very Conservative views, and Mum and Dad voted Conservative all their lives. They did not really concern themselves with politics, and when election time came round, thought it better that people who had experience of governing were the ones to vote for. They had no patience with the new fangled Socialists! Alsager was in the Knutsford constituency, so our M.P. was always a Conservative. Those days many people had the idea that they must keep to their ‘station’ in life, and ‘know their place’. Much obsequious kow-towing was accorded to those with more money and bigger houses. Mum and Dad did not subscribe to this view at all, believing quite rightly that money and possessions did not necessarily make someone a better person. In fact it must be said that Mum dearly loved a bit of something to swank about, a good fault, if a bit embarrassing at times. It was a common sight to see a car pull up outside ‘Bickertons’ or ‘Boyce Adams’, grocers, and the grocer dash out, often in the pouring rain, with his notepad and pencil, to take an order from the occupant of the car. Alsager had a great many of these people with delusions of grandeur. |
