Last revised: September 21, 2006

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Time for a Cuppa!

The Magazine

For all the Family

Saturday flicks
By
Kath O'Sullivan

Philip and Kathleen were ready to leave for their Saturday trip to the Lyceum Cinema. Phylis walked with them to the main road and saw them safely across.

“Have you got the money tucked safely away, Kathleen?” she asked, meaning the silver sixpence for the tickets and a ha'penny each for sweeties. Money was scarce, but so convinced was she that head lice and scabies were rife amongst the patrons of the cheaper seats that she was willing to pay the extra penny. The majority of children paid tuppence, which bought them a seat in the front rows, or half a seat, if it was a popular film. On busy Saturdays these children were told to 'shove up and make room for another little 'un'.

“Keep hold of Kathleen's hand young man,” She admonished her son.

She worried about the traffic, but there was very little in side streets in that area of Bradford, the folk who lived there had no brass to spare for bicycles or motorbikes, and cars were something a toff who lived in Harrogate or Ilkley might own. During the week horse and cart made deliveries to those householders who were not in debt.

The sweet shop was Aladdin's cave, where liquorice straps, kaylie suckers, sweet cigarettes, gob stoppers, chocolate bars, sweets called lamb chops, new potatoes and green peas, pear drops, and toffees were displayed in a tantalising array. A queue of a dozen chattering children clamoured to spend their cash. The lad nearest the counter couldn't make up his mind.

“Come on son,” said the shopkeeper, “tha's taking too long. T'film ull ave started before tha's bought owt. If tha can't decide stand back and let t'dog see t'rabbit.”

Mister, mister, I want some gob stoppers?” said a bigger lad who'd pushed his way to the counter.

“Mind your manners and take your turn you cheeky young beggar.”

When the little lad at the front of the queue pointed to the toffee the shopkeeper picked up a tray that held it and gave it a whack with a little toffee hammer. He weighed some of the broken pieces, and put them in a bag.

“There you are son, that'll keep tha jaws busy.”

When Kathleen ordered for both herself and Philip. He wanted jelly babies and she wanted dolly mixtures.

“Come on our kid,” she said pulling him through the football scrum, which had developed.

At the cinema the queue for tuppenny tickets stretched across the front and down the side of the building. Kathleen gripped Philip's arm and manoeuvred him into the much shorter thripenny queue.

“Gerout of it you cheeky beggar we was here first.”

The cry came from a little carroty haired lad in the tuppenny queue. He stood with both fists at the ready challenging a much bigger lad who had tried to push in. He didn't stand a chance, but was saved from a fight when one of the cinema attendants shoved his way through and shook his fist at the bigger lad.

“We're having none of that. Either go to the end of the queue and wait your turn or geroff home,” he shouted, waving a fist as big as loaf in the face of the offender.

It wasn't long before the two children reached the box office and Kathleen handed over the sixpence in exchange for the two little pieces of pink paper. Two seconds later they were through the door and into the twilight of the stalls. An usherette holding a torch tore the tickets and handed half back to her.

“Sit where you like,” she said, but whatever you do sit still or you'll get chucked out.”

They chose seats half way down and about five rows behind the back row of the tuppennies. They had a whole row to themselves.

“Let's sit in the middle,” she said, “then we'll be able to see everything.”

Philip didn't care where he sat; he was too busy biting the head of a jelly baby. Gradually the front rows filled. Some children stood, waved and called to their friends, but when this happened one of the male attendants rushed down the aisle and shone his torch on the culprits.

“Eh, you, sit down and shurrup.”

As more and more children entered the same attendant began yelled,

“Shove up you lot, make room for some one else.”

Each time this message was relayed the children in the front rows half rose in their seats and moved a closer together until it seemed as if someone had choreographed their movements

When the lights dimmed a muted cheer went up from the half pint patrons.

This was greeted with a cry, “Ah shan't tell you lot again, shurrup and sit down.”

The cry was unnecessary for as soon as the cartoon began the audience sat entranced.

Woody Woodpecker followed Donald Duck, who quacked his way in and out of trouble to the delight of the kids, and it was while Woody strutted his stuff that Kathleen became aware of something moving under the seat in front of her. When something grabbed her ankle she was so frightened that she stuffed her fist in her mouth.

.“Keep still, don't say a word or you know what'll happen.”

The voice was that of her cousin Jack, and the something that would happen was a nasty Indian burn. Jack was a past master at wrist twisting. Slowly he pulled himself up from the floor and slid into the seat next to hers.

“Give us your tickets.”

“But what if the man wants to see them?”

“Naw, he won't do that to you, you're in the best seats, it's the kids in the tuppennies they go f or.”

Again something brushed her ankle and when she looked down she saw two pairs of eyes staring back at her from the floor.

“Who's that?”

“Never you mind, just give me them tickets.” said Jack reaching for her wrist.

She handed them over. It was better to be thrown out of the cinema than to suffer one of Jack's Indian burns. As soon as he had the tickets he whispered, “You can get up now.”

Immediately two little boys emerged from under the seats and settled down next to him.

During the interval, when the usherette walked round with a tray of ice-cream, Kathleen tucked her chin on her chest and closed her eyes. Perhaps if she couldn't see the attendants they wouldn't see her.

Jack, on the other hand lolled back as if he owned the place. She knew now who the two boys with shaven heads were; she'd seen them with him before. They lived at the orphanage down Rushton Road and went to school with Jack. You could tell the orphanage boys anywhere. Their heads were close shaved except for a small fringe which fell forward on to their foreheads and they wore navy blue shorts, grey flannel shirts, rough woollen navy jumpers, and grey socks with black lace up boots.

“Hello Tommy,” said Philip, who had recognised one of the boys.

“Nah then Phil, lad,” was the reply. “Give us a spice.”

Philip reluctantly handed over one of his jelly babies.

“Where's your manners,” asked Jack shoving out his hand, haven't you got one for me and Billy then?”

For a moment Kathleen thought her brother was going to burst into tears, but he shook the contents of the bag onto his open palm and picked out a green baby and an orange one and handed them over. The two black babies that remained he shoved into his mouth before Jack could steal them.

“What have you got, meany?” Jack asked snatching the bag from Kathleen and shaking her dolly mixtures into his hand. He gave two to Billy, two to Tommy, and pushed the rest into his mouth.

“Not bad,” he grinned as he chewed them heartily.

Kathleen swallowed a sob. She knew if she made a fuss the attendant would come to see what was the matter.

“I'm going to tell my granny on you,” she whispered.

“You do and I'll give you something to remember.”

Before she could reply a cheer went up from the assembled children, the lights dimmed and the title of the film appeared on the screen. Once more the attendants demanded quiet, but the noise died spontaneously as pictures of Laurel and Hardy filled the screen.

Kath O'Sullivan

Note: No part of any material on this and other pages can be reproduced in any way without any of the author's written permission. All rights remain with the author.

Contributors stories

Tale of a Taniwha By Kath O'Sullivan

Saturday Flicks By Kath O'Sullivan

Holiday of a lifetime By Mike Flack

Holiday of a lifetime (part two) By Mike Flack

Anna's Child By Marc Lensly

Stranger by Miriam Capps

Poem By Norbert (Doc Gater) Smith

My Day Out (Sylvia Lukeman)

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My novels can be seen at

http://www.btinternet.com/~mikeco158/onetear1.htm