About two years ago, I had the good fortune to visit the home of Kevin Wheelan.  Kevin is a great cinema enthusiast who has been collecting films, cinema memorabilia and even projectors for a number of years.  After storing these treasures in spare rooms and bedrooms for a number of years, and with the agreement of his wife, Kevin set about converting his garage into a home cinema.  However, unlike the usual efforts made by people where basements and dens are fitted with surround sound and a large screen television, Kevin set about building a small intimate cinema using the memorabilia that he had collected.

The story of Kevin’s home cinema did not begin with its building, but can be traced back to when he was a child living in Enfield. Close to his home was a wonderful cinema, where, following regular visits, he developed a love of film and an appreciation of cinema architecture .…………… but wait, why not read Kevin’s own account of the Premier Enfield.

The Premier was my local cinema, being just a few hundred yards from the street into which we had moved in 1949 when I was a toddler.  I saw my first film, a reissue of Dumbo,at the Regent Cinema, Waltham Cross, at the age of four.  Although I cannot recall my first visit to the Premier, by the age of five, I was hooked on film and going there as often as my parents would allow.  My father did not earn much and money was tight, so my mother made extra cash by washing dishes in a local café, the grandly named Cadoza.  During school holidays she would pack me off to the Premier with sixpence for admission and a penny ha’penny cheese roll from the café for my lunch.  The roll was invariably hard as a rock, as was the cheese, but with rationing still in force we ate what we were given.

The Premier Cinema, Enfield Highway, opened as a silent house on 17^th January 1921 with Wolves of the Night starring William Farnum.   It had approximately 900 seats on one level.  Sound came in April 1930 with the installation of a pair of Western Electric Universal Base Sound Reproducers.   Painted under their bedplates by the installing engineer are the words “TESTED O.K. 15.4.30”.  However, the first talkie, Sunny Side Up, starring Charles Farrell and Janet Gaynor, was not shown there until 26^th May 1930. 

Box Office & Foyer

The brickwork on both sides of the cinema entrance was pockmarked with a mass of small hemispherical holes.  I had been given on good authority that these holes were the result of machine gunning by German aircraft!  I soon discovered, however, that they were made by bored patrons twisting pennies in the brickwork while they waited for the cinema to open.

Whilst queuing for the first performance, I was always intrigued to see a middle aged man, invariably dressed in a shabby raincoat, enter a door inside a small archway at the side of the building.  He was, of course, the projectionist, though that would have meant little to me at the time.  I yearned to go through that mysterious door and eventually did so many years later. 

Not having a television at home made watching moving images a novelty and I could not get enough of the cinema.  Each visit was a thrilling experience, which is difficult to explain to a generation reared on television, DVDs and video games.  I would sit in the auditorium in excited anticipation waiting for the lights to dim, closing my eyes for a few seconds to see if it was darker when I reopened them.   The usual clue as to when the programme was about to start was when the strains of Mantovani’s rendition of  “Charmaine” slowly faded away.  I often wondered if this particular record was the only one the cinema possessed, as I cannot recall them ever playing anything else.

Being part of a very small independent chain, the Premier was unable to get the pick of the new releases.  These were offered first to the cinemas in Waltham Cross and Enfield Town, which were part of the larger circuits.  It survived on a diet of not-so-new releases and on re-releases of almost archival material.  I was thus able to see a wonderful variety of films, my favourites being old Westerns, Abbott and Costello comedies and swashbucklers such as Captain Blood, which had been made in 1935!

I was thrown out of the Premier on one occasion.   I mentioned earlier that seats were priced according to their proximity to the screen.  On this particular occasion I had paid a shilling, which entitled me to sit in the adult two shilling seats near the rear of the hall, as children were admitted at half price.  However, the cashier had given me a one shilling adult ticket instead of a one shilling child’s ticket, so the usherette, a fearsome lady by the name of Betty, took me to the adult one shilling seats at the front.  I protested, but in vain.  Money being in short supply in those days, I was not happy – after all I could have paid sixpence for admission and spent the other sixpence on ice cream – so once Betty was out of sight, I sneaked back to the more expensive seats.  But she saw me and returned me to the cheap ones.   I was having none of this and, as soon as the lights dimmed, I crept back once again.  My bottom had hardly touched the seat when I was grabbed by the collar, frog-marched to the nearest exit and unceremoniously dumped outside.  I then had three hours to kill, as I was not entirely sure that Mum would believe my side of the story and thought it best not to say anything.

Dad used to take me to church every Sunday, and a highlight of my week, on alighting from the trolleybus on the way home, was to look at the stills for the next week’s programme.  Fifty years on I can vividly recall the feeling almost of despair when, one morning in April 1961, I saw a notice in one of the stills frames announcing that the cinema was closing that very week to become a bingo hall.  It was like losing an old friend.  On 19^th April 1961 the Premier’s forty year run as a cinema came to an end with its final presentation of The Left Handed Gun and Wind Across The Everglades.  And indeed, the next day, just as the announcement had stated, it became a bingo hall. 

In 1970 my father’s workplace moved to Basingstoke and so we upped sticks and moved to Hampshire.  Before leaving, I asked the manager of what was then Premier Bingo if I could take some photos as a souvenir of the building.  He kindly agreed.  A cleaner let me in and I recognised her immediately.  It was Betty!  She was such a lovely lady, nothing like the ogress of childhood memory and we had a good laugh when I mentioned our previous encounter.

I took my camera all over the building and finally got to go through that mysterious door, which led via a steep staircase to the projection room.  To my surprise, I found the projectors still in situ, though looking rather forlorn. 

Top: Projectors in situ

Bottom: left, Mr. John W. Davies, owner; Western Electric Company Ltd. plaque 

So, one morning in August 1977, I turned up at the Premier and spent the rest of the day dismantling the projectors and transported them home the following week.  They were looking even more neglected than when I had last seen them in 1970 and it was obvious that in the intervening years they had been stripped for spares, presumably for other machines in the circuit’s remaining cinemas.  Fortunately, I had a number of friends in the business, and through them, I was able to replace all missing parts, including those removed by Western Electric during their periodic upgrades of their equipment.   I even managed to find a synchronous turntable used in the days when some soundtracks were on 16 inch discs synchronised with the film.  This method of sound reproduction soon lost out to the rival sound-on-film system and by 1932 sound-on-disc was more or less obsolete.  Western Electric then removed the turntables and almost none have survived.

Over the next twenty-four months I restored one of the projectors to its original condition and to full working order.  It spent many years in a spare bedroom, in both my previous and current houses, but now resides in my garage cinema, a mini replica of a 1930s picture house, fitted out with original seats, lights, clocks, stills and category boards and plasterwork salvaged from cinemas, which have long since succumbed to the wrecker’s ball.  I named my cinema the Excelsior after a much loved cinema in East London’s Bethnal Green.  The day it was finished, I put on a recording of Mantovani’s  “Charmaine” and sat down in the back row to admire my handiwork.  As the cascading strings filled the tiny auditorium, I was transported back fifty years and suddenly felt the tears welling up.

Now, whenever I put on a show, I think of that little boy sitting on the other side of the projection port entranced by the images dancing on the screen.  Little did he know that half a century later he would be operating the very equipment putting those images onto the screen.  I also think of the man in the shabby raincoat, probably long since gone to his fathers, and of all those other dead hands which operated my projector over the decades and which gave so much pleasure to so many people.

The Premier was demolished in January 1985.  Unfortunately, I found out well after the event, by which time there was nothing left to salvage.  But I have the projectors, a comprehensive photographic record of the building and, best of all, so many happy memories.

The first word that comes to mind when one sees Kevin Wheelan’s Excelsior Kinema is AMAZING!  But I am getting ahead of myself.  I first heard of Kevin home cinema thanks to a friend following its feature in FILM TECH Cinema Systems.  I wrote to Kevin to tell him how impressed I was with his cinema and we began a correspondence about things of mutual interest, including cinemas and cinema memorabilia.  I was delighted when he invited me to see his cinema when next I visited England.

Kevin lives just south of London in a road filled with attractive houses and gardens.  At first glance, the casual passerby might not notice something different about his house.  Were the walker to turn his or her head to the walkway between the house and the garage, a tall elongated sign would cause even the least curious passerby to stop and wonder what was being announced.  The sign displaces the word Excelsior in large white letters on a red background, which I later learned was made to an exact scale of the sign of the Excelsior Bethnal Green.  Now, what could be more enticing?

Kevin discovered the Excelsior Bethnal Green with some school friends in 1962.  At this time, the cinema had become a Bingo Hall, but still showed films on occasion.  Like so many others before him, he found the architecture of the erstwhile cinema interesting.  At first glance, the building looked more like a church than a cinema, as a result of its tall frontage and pointed roof.  Like my mother and many others, Kevin saw a certain beauty and charm in its unique form.  Once he went inside the building and studied it further, he became even more impressed with the building – both exterior and interior. 

Sadly, the cinema that Kevin found was no longer the one that my mother and I knew.  It had fallen into a poor state of disrepair with little to suggest that it would be returned to its former glory.  He remembers looking at the old posters that still decorated the walls of the long walkway to the auditorium.  He also remembers passing through the opening between the heavy curtains that hid large doors and entering the auditorium after having his ticket ripped in half by an attendant.  Kevin remembers the auditorium being somewhat messy with discarded sweet wrappers and empty ice cream tubs on the floor between the rows.  Worse yet, he noticed that a number of seats were broken, something that I never saw during my days of visiting.  However, even worse than broken seats was the presence of a tear in the upper left-hand corner of the screen.

When Kevin visited the Excelsior, the policy was no longer to screen first run films.  Instead, only lesser known films were shown, which had been previously released and shown elsewhere.  I found it disturbing to hear how this wonderful old cinema had declined by this time, but such is the way of the world.  Despite its decline, Kevin says that the charm of the cinema was still obvious and it immediately became a firm favourite with him, so much so that once he was able to build his own home cinema, he named it in honour of the Excelsior Bethnal Green.  In my opinion, no greater homage could be made.

When Kevin invited me to visit his Excelsior, I gladly accepted.  From the photographs I had seen, I could not but be greatly impressed by the décor and by the care that had obviously gone into its construction.  As impressed as I was, I can assure the reader that nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared me for what I was to find once I actually visited it.  With great excitement and anticipation, I made my way down the driveway and saw the sign outside the erstwhile garage. 

 I entered the small foyer of Kevin’s Excelsior and stood in amazement and wonderment at what I found.  Each wall was decorated with interesting cinema memorabilia that Kevin had collected over years of careful hunting amongst the ruins and remains of some twenty disused cinemas and at collector fairs.  These memorabilia include a number of plaques and still boards, which had been carefully restored to their former condition to decorate this virtual Aladdin’s cave.  I did not know where to begin my inspection.  Everything that I saw caught my eye and drew me nearer for a closer look.  I realized that I had to pull myself together and not leap from place to place.  I had to stop, take a deep breath and start at the beginning and move around the foyer in a logical fashion.  If not, I would miss all kinds of treasures!

From my first look of the entrance area, I saw that the foyer is painted in a light green colour, which is reminiscent of the old Associated British Cinema (ABC) circuit and is lit by several classic glass wall lamps set high up close to the ceiling.  These lamps, which once helped illuminate a cinema, were saved by Kevin from needless destruction.  On the right of the entrance is a box office window together with several framed notices and a brass plaque.  This seemed to be the obvious place to begin my tour.  And after taking another deep breath, I began my exploration of what would prove to be a very special place. 

Click on the collage to see enlarged views of some of the individual pictures.

Upper left: Box Office Area; Upper right: Box Office Window & Candlestick telephone

Lower left: Warning Plaque; Lower right: Ticket Dispenser

Click on the sign to see an enlarged view.

First Glimpse of the Auditorium

Kalee 12 Projector on a Western Electric Universal Base with a Monarc Lamp

Top left: Ross GC1 Projector with an RCA 9031 soundhead and a Magnarc Lamp; Top right: Film rewinder & other things
necessary for a projector room to function

Bottom left: Sound Apparatus; Bottom right: Sign stating that the sound projection apparatus is leased from
Western Electric Company Ltd.

Speaking as a visitor, I can assure Kevin that his dedication and diligence have been well worthwhile.  He, with the help of his wife, has produced a startling transformation and constructed a magnificent cinema.  As a result of his hours of searching through derelict cinemas, Kevin managed to salvage a number of decorative pieces that would otherwise be lost.  Thanks to his demand for authentic restoration, his tireless energy and his remarkable patience, these discarded and forgotten pieces have been transformed and returned to their original state, which has allowed their beauty to be shared with others once more.   Through his efforts, a visitor may perhaps understand what it once meant to go to the pictures and also appreciate the luxury that was associated with it.   

Kevin not only deserves our recognition and praise, but also our gratitude.  I would like to thank him for sharing his cinema with me and now with the readers.

Going to the Pictures, come rain or shine - when we really were mad about film!

I enjoyed going to the pictures, flicks, movies or bioscope (as the cinema was called in South Africa some years ago) in the days when there were cinemas with distinctive character, more than I do today where one multiplex cinema is very much like another. As a child I attended the children's morning matinee, mainly to see whether the woman who had been tied to the railway lines in the previous episode of the serial was rescued before the train rode over her.  Children who sat in the front rows were often unruly and usherettes with torches used to walk round the theatre and flash their torches at offenders, warning them that they would have to leave if they didn't behave! The serial was followed by a cartoon or a short featuring Laurel and Hardy, the Keystone Cops or Harold Lloyd, then a main feature film which the management considered suitable for children, usually a cowboy, a musical or a tear-jerker starring Margaret O'Brien!

We rarely go to the cinema these days, but watch films on our satellite TV channels or DVDs of our own choice. Apart from anything else, they seem to turn the soundtrack up far too loud in the cinemas these days - but perhaps this complaint is just another sign that I am well on my way to becoming a "grumpy old woman".

Jean of Johannesburg, South Africa.

My experience of the pictures was much like others. I went with my parents or my sisters in the immediate post war years at least once a week, as well as to the Saturday morning children's films. As I got a little older and able to go without my parents I often went twice or more times each week. Our local cinema changed films mid-week so that was great, but we also had at least six cinemas to choose from in town, and another six or more in the various suburbs. In my earlier days I was mainly into cowboy films (Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Hopalong Cassidy) but also enjoyed the swashbucklers.  I think the last film I saw in a cinema was The Empire Strikes Back when it was just out.

Bob of Cardiff

Yes, it was fun to go to movies as a kid.  I loved the cliff-hanger serials when I was went to the movies as a child in the l940's during their heyday.  I still love them.  Almost all have been made available on VHS now on DVD.  There were many great heroes ……. Captain Marvel, Dick Tracy, Zorro, Flash Gordon et al and many great escapes from what looked like certain death. 

I remember Linda Sterling, ‘the serial queen’.  In one production, ‘The Tiger Lady’, subsequent generations have noticed that she did not in fact wear a tiger skin, but rather a leopard skin.

There were also many great villains.  I especially liked ‘The Purple Monster’, although I could not tell if he was purple since the film was in black & white, but he came from Mars, so perhaps he was!  I also enjoyed ‘The Crimson Ghost’, ‘The Scorpion’ and ‘The Clutching Hand’, as well as many others.  I always felt sorry for ‘Dom del Orro’, as he had to wear an iron suit in such a warm climate.  He must have been overheated.  In many of the serials, one did not find out until the last chapter which member of the cast was the villain!

One thing that used to amuse me about the serials was that some of the characters who were ‘killed’ in the early chapters often turned up later playing another role!

I remember that during the 1960s that my wife and I went to a complete showing of a Superman serial.  We sat through each chapter, which were shown ‘back-to-back’ and lasted for about six hours.  This was quite an experience!

I have noticed recently that the television channel, Turner Classic Movies (TCM), showed some serials on Saturday mornings.  I have to admit that at the end of chapter, I still cannot work out how the hero is going to escape ‘certain death’.  However, naturally enough, on the following Saturday, Hollywood always managed to find a way!

Most of the stories of the serials were more than a bit unrealistic.  For example, I remember in one serial, the hero performs ‘major surgery’ on one of the ‘good guys’ in a tent, in the jungle, and without any previous medical training!  Still, it WAS a serial and kids did not worry about such details in those days!

Going to the cinema today does not offer the same experience as it once did and my wife and I prefer to watch movies from our comfortable couch.  This also gives one the advantage of being able to ‘pause’ the action whenever we feel like a break.  However, what I find the most annoying about going to the movies today is the commercials.  Programmes are advertised to start at a particular time, but once the auditorium lights dim and the screen curtains open, one has to sit through 20-25 minutes of commercials and trailers.  Again, when watching a film at home, the ‘remote’ proves itself useful, as one can avoid the commercials by ‘using the mute button’.  Of course one can also ‘leave the room’ or ‘change the channel’.

Peter

As I was born on Chambord Street, which was just off Brick Lane, I believe I can call myself an East Ender.  What evocative memories the article brought back!  As a result, I began thinking of the places I and probably Charles and his family knew or had heard off.

As a child I used to visit Club Row to see the dogs on a Sunday morning.  Naturally, in those days, I had no idea what the animals had to put up with.  I also used to enjoy going to the Petticoat Lane Market on Middlesex Street where my cousin had a crockery stall and watching the stall holders juggle half-a-dozen plates.

Afterwards we went either Tubby Isaacs Jellied Eel Stall just around the corner from Petticoat Lane, close to Aldgate Underground Station or to Lyons Corner House, which was at the station entrance.  Lyons had many such restaurants/cafes all over London and throughout the U.K. and was once noted for their waitresses, or Nippies, as they were called.  These ladies were quick-on-their-feet, hence the nickname and were dressed in a uniform consisting of a black dress with a white pinafore or pinnie.  As a treat, I was allowed a sliced banana served in a long silver dish covered with either fresh cream or ice cream – I am beginning to salivate at the thought!

I remember that at weekends across the road from Aldgate Underground Station was a small Fair Ground with bumper cars and slot machines – what joy!

On Saturday mornings, I used to go to the picture palace.  I would go to Smarts Cinema on Bethnal Green Road, which was where Brick Lane kids went.  Smarts later became the Rex and then the Essoldo and is now a place of business and a warehouse.  I always enjoyed the programme, which included serials and a talent show.  I also enjoyed eating sweets and drinking lemonade!  I also remember going to the Excelsior too.

I remember the Jewish bakeries - the bagel shops which also sold the plaited loaves, Challah.

There was once a Russian Public Baths (Saunas) at the Whitechapel end of Brick Lane.  I recall that on either side of the entrance two elderly Jewish ladies used to sit each with a large basket of bagels at her side.  Whenever one of the ladies had a customer while the other did not, the ‘other’ would make a comment about it!  It is interesting to note that in the East End, the word bagel was always pronounced as by-egel.  At the other end of Brick Lane (Shorditch end), there used to be a small cinema on one of the corners, which was later demolished and replaced by a warehouse.

I visited Bethnal Green last year for the first time in twenty years and was intrigued to note the many changes to the area.  I also noted that it was now populated by the latest group of immigrants.  The area has always been the first home of immigrants, firstly to the Huegonaults from France, then Jewish refugees from Poland and Russia and then to Asians from Pakistan, India and Bangladesh.  

Ron of East Dulwich

The pictures of the cinema in the garage reminded me of a girl that I was in high school with.  She and her boyfriend set up a cinema in the front room of her parents home, complete with stage, curtains (velvet) and projector.  I was invited (as a paying guest) to view some movies there.  I can’t remember what I saw but do remember enjoying myself.  I have no idea what happened to them, but interesting to recall those long forgotten times.  Your website brought back some very happy memories for me.

Margaret of Melbourne

Like you, we used to go to 'the pictures'.  If anyone we knew had said they were going to 'the cinema', they would have got some very funny looks, suggesting they had ideas above their station!

One of the special treats I enjoyed as a child was to be taken to one of the swisher cinemas by an uncle and aunt.  They loved to go and see the big American musicals.  We did not go very often, but when we did there was always the sense of it being an expedition, as it meant a five-mile bus journey each way.  And then when we got there, we were shown to our pre-booked seats, which seemed the height of sophistication to me.

Once I was old enough, I used to go to the Saturday-morning 'minors'.  I especially loved the cliff-hanger serial.  But it was always an incredibly noisy affair!  I was very well-behaved and law-abiding, of course, but some of the children there were very unruly and looking back on it now the cinema manager and his staff must have dreaded Saturday mornings!  

Picture-going is so very different these days.  The only time my husband and I have been to the pictures over the last few years is during family visits, taking the youngsters to the latest Harry Potter film in a soulless multiplex cinema (a treat for them if not for us!).  I am always surprised at the cost of going to the pictures today: it costs a fortune for two adults and two children - you need your credit card!  And then there's the week's ‘rations’ that everyone finds necessary to take in with them.  Oh for the days of the ice-cream lady in the interval!

Anne C.

One of my fondest memories from my childhood in Cleveland, Ohio, is a bakery that was located on Loraine Avenue.  The bakery’s full name was The Laub Baking Company.   However, we always referred to it simply as Laub's.  All kinds of delicious breads, rolls, doughnuts and coffee cakes were produced here. 

I remember the winters of Cleveland as a child.  We used to walk to and from school each day even though the winters were harsh with lots of snow and cold winds.  I remember that among the items of clothing that I wore to keep my head warm was a scarf, which I tied under my chin.  Over this, I wore a hat that I pulled down to cover my forehead and ears.  Finally, I used to tie another scarf around my nose and mouth allowing only my eyes to be exposed to the elements so that I could see where I was walking.   In spite of all of the padding around my face, the scent of fresh baking breads was discernable in the air.

In the summer months, whenever I was playing outside, riding my bike, walking to Church or walking to another store, the close proximity of the bakery allowed the air to be filled with the wonderful aroma of baking bread.

Occasionally on a Saturday, as a special treat for me, we were allowed to go to the day-old bakery, which was a small store attached to Laub’s.  Here the most delectable of treats were sold at reduced prices.  These cakes and breads weren't moldy or stale, but were now considered to be too close to their sell by dates to be sold in supermarkets.  As a result, they were offered for sale at a price a little less than in the bigger stores.  Despite their rejection by the supermarket chains, these baked goods were scrumptious.

Iced coffee cakes with cinnamon were a special favorite of mine.  I enjoyed mine with milk rather than coffee.  These delights were best eaten when dunked.   This allowed the cold milk to seep slowly into the cake and make its way between the layers of the cake and softened it.  Sometimes pieces of the icing covering fell into my glass of milk.  This provided an extra treat once the cake part of my coffee cake had been eaten.   Other baked treats, such as Italian breads, bear claws and glazed doughnuts were also among my favorites.

The Laub Bakery will always hold a special place in my memories of growing up in Cleveland, Ohio.  I shall always remember walking in the neighborhood of Loraine Avenue and savouring the aroma of baked goods, one of life's greatest pleasures.

Madame la Glisseuse

I have read your story about the Excelsior and find myself connecting with its emotional impact. A building does not have to actually disappear for it to have this type of impact.

Several years ago, my mother decided that she was no longer able to maintain our family home. This left the house empty and since we were not ready to sell it yet, we decided to rent it out. We found what we thought to be suitable tenants however we were to learn that we had misjudged them. I found going to my parents’ house once the tenants left to be traumatic. The house had been turned into a pigsty and I was both shocked and devastated to learn that seemingly pleasant and educated people could live in this manner. What hurt me most when I saw the state of the house was that they had treated badly the place where my parents had lived for 65 years and where I had spent my childhood.

Although I did not particularly like many aspects of the house, it was nonetheless the place where I had experienced the majority of my childhood memories and the place where I visited my parents once I left home. Looking at the condition of the house actually made me feel great sadness on my parents' behalf, as I know that the present state would have caused them mortal wounds.

A Reader – Melbourne, Australia