Norwich Cinemas 1945 - 1961

     (1) Early Experiments

The cinema came to Norwich, as to the rest of the country, in the earliest years of the twentieth century.  The very first cinema in Norwich, screening 'Franco-British' pictures was at the Assembly Rooms on Bank Plain.  Not far behind was the Agricultural Hall, later the home of Anglia Television, where 'Jury's Imperial Bioscope Pictures' in 1906 included scenes from the Royal Tour of India.  In 1907 the Victoria Hall in St. Stephen's Street opened as a cinema of a kind: it seems a hole in a sheet of corrugated iron allowed the light beam to reach the screen and seating was long, hard, wooden forms.   From 1912 to 1922, the Prince of Wales was functioning in Vinegar Lane near Foundry Bridge, behind what became the Grosvenor Rooms.  It had wicker chairs that creaked alarmingly, but afternoon tea was served and pensioners were admitted free to certain matinees.  There were others: The Alexander in St. Peter's Street (now occupied by the City Hall); the Globe in Chapelfield, The Astoria in Cowgate  (in the Alderman Norman School); and the Enterprise in Northumberland Street, a tiny little theatre in what was little more than a ramshackle shed, and which became a shoe factory up until the sixties that I occasionally visited in the course of my work..   

From 1915 to 1930 silent films were shown at the Thatched Theatre on All Saints' Green, later incorporated into Bonds Department Store, now John Lewis, and bombed and burned in 1940. As David Elgood, the Norwich historian, says, "The Thatched was to see the sound era but not take part in it". It was a beautiful old building with a magnificent thatched roof, and had long been used for concerts and variety turns, and even had its own orchestra. These shows continued along with the high quality silent films, until the management discontinued the cinema side in 1930 rather than go to the expense of equipping itself for the new sound era. It continued with live shows until being taken over by its neighbour, Bonds department store, and was then one of the early casualties of the war.

One of the most enterprising entrepreneurs in this new field was A.E. Priest, who sold photographic and cinematographic equipment from a shop in prestigious Prince of Wales Road in the early years of the last century, but who had also worked in a premises in Magdalen Street with Friese-Greene, one of the legendary pioneers of the new medium, who was immortalised by Robert Donat in the Festival of Britain film “The Magic Lantern”. Although Priest never achieved the national fame of Friese-Green, he became a substantial local figure in business and entertainment, and is one of the unsung heroes of early cinema in Norwich. In those days before permanent cinema houses, he toured the city, and probably beyond, giving shows under various names such as “Picture and Vaudville Company”, “Famous Pictures and Vaudville Co”, and “The Anglo-American Picture Co”. These shows consisted of short films and Music Hall acts, although by the end of 1912 he was giving shows consisting of up to eight films, at venues such as the asylum at Heigham hall in Old Palace Road. By this time there were permanent cinema houses opening and I can find no record of any more of Priest’s shows, as he concentrated on building up his optical and photographic business in Prince of Wales road. Roaming shows, in Norwich at least, had begun to give way to the Cinema Palaces that were becoming embedded into the fabric of the city.

All of these early experiments in the wonderful new medium had passed into history by the end of the twenties, leaving the beginnings of a dozen robust survivors who helped shape the life and dreams of the Norwich post war world.

From 1915 to 1930 silent films were shown at the Thatched Theatre on All Saints' Green, later incorporated into Bonds Department Store, now John Lewis, and bombed and burned in 1940. As David Elgood, the Norwich historian, says, "The Thatched was to see the sound era but not take part in it". It was a beautiful old building with a magnificent thatched roof, and had long been used for concerts and variety turns, and even had its own orchestra. These shows continued along with the high quality silent films, until the management discontinued the cinema side in 1930 rather than go to the expense of equipping itself for the new sound era. It continued with live shows until being taken over by its neighbour, Bonds department store, and was then one of the early casualties of the war.

(2) The Dream Begins

Being born during the blitz, in a bomb - cratered Victorian tenement, might seem a disadvantaged start to life, but children never see the world through jaundiced eyes, everything is bright and fresh, and the constant stream of new experiences obscure the reality of the adult world. One of these experiences was so all powerful that even our parents were seduced by it, and that magical world was "The Pictures". 

The cinema was always “the pictures” to us, and it was a key element in our lives. Although always popular from the early years of the century, and especially during the depression when it was one of the few forms of escapism possible, cinema-going became a national obsession during the Second World War, with attendances rising by 50% between 1939 and 1942. Along with the escapism there was the paradoxical reason that the cinema provided the only way to see the newsreels of world events, in particular the images of the war unfolding around the world. Audiences peaked in 1946, with total cinema admissions reaching 1.6 billion, equivalent to every man, women and child in the UK going to the pictures 33 times that year.

The immediate post war period remained a golden age for cinema, from the peak of 1946 until the beginning of the fifties, as TV hadn’t really started and the cinema had a clear field. Norwich had eleven cinemas, thirteen if you include two theatres which served as cinemas at various stages in their lives, potentially showing up to 40 different films every week, and everybody would go to their favourite cinema on a regular basis. Two of my relatives for instance, would go to the Carlton every Monday night all year long, whatever the film, and most people had their own established pattern. Some families however, and I was lucky enough to belong to one of them, were far more promiscuous in their cinema going habits, and we took full advantage of the cornucopia placed before us. 

Of those thirteen cinemas, The Ritz, The Regal, The Capitol and The Mayfair were local cinemas with a catchment area outside the city centre, and relied on customers from the surrounding neighbourhood, who preferred not to have to go into the city. They would normally have double bill programmes running from Monday – Wednesday; Thursday – Saturday; and Sunday. These would usually be second run features, a few months after their initial showing on the main cinemas, and B-movies that never made it to the circuit. The Sunday showing, if there was one, would often be drawn from the archives of the last twenty years, and could produce some remarkable pairings that would now grace any art cinema.

The four main cinemas were The Odeon, The Regent, The Haymarket, The Carlton, and they would usually show the same programme for six days, and then use Sunday for an archive double bill; although by the sixties they would have started using Sunday as the first day of the new programme, which would then run for seven days. Their programme would consist of the new releases of the big chains, with a second feature either specially made for that purpose, or an American b-movie when there was not much new material.

The two independents, The Theatre De Luxe and The Norvic, would show a very eclectic mix of vintage movies and b-movies, generally following the pattern of the local cinemas, but without the early re-runs of big features.

There were three other important, but odd cinemas at this time: The Noverre, The Theatre Royal and The Hippodrome, which I will speak about later.

In the mid-fifties the price for the cheapest seats in the local and independent cinemas was one shilling, except for The Mayfair, which was the cheapest in the city at ninepence. The four main cinemas all charged one and six up to about three and seven, with the Haymarket peaking at four shillings. There have always been stories about children being admitted in exchange for jam jars, but I was always a bit sceptical about this, until I was visited in the shop one day by the grand- daughter of one of the Kirby family, who had run a cycle shop in St Benedicts for most of the 20th century, and given what seems to be the true story of this legend. She had lived in St Benedicts in the thirties and well remembered the Saturday morning excitement that the cattle market would bring, as, at the close of business, herds of cattle and other livestock would be driven down St Andrews and then Westwick street on the way to city station to be taken all over the county. This weekly event would attract boys from around the city, who would go to the cattle market in the morning and be given rabbit skins by the dealers and farmers who had come in from the country. When they had enough they would take them, with any bottles or jam jars they had collected, to Archie King, the scrap dealer in Ber Street, and get enough money to be able to go to the Theatre De Luxe in the afternoon. This seems more feasible than handing them over at the box office, and probably accounts for the stories that have grown up around this enterprising activity. 

All the cinemas had the unusual practice, as it seems now, but which was borrowed from the early days of cinema, of "continuous " performances, usually referred to as “The American System”. This meant that the programme of second feature, trailers, newsreel, cartoon or short, and then the main film, would run probably three times from the early afternoon to late night without the auditorium being emptied, although there would be a break when the lights would come up between the main films. This gave us plenty of chance to enjoy second helpings if the film was any good, at no extra cost, and was a great place to while away as many hours as we wished with entertainment thrown in. The exception to this generally relaxed attitude was the manager of the Norvic, an obsessive man with an apparently photographic memory, who would prowl the aisles during the programme breaks, and haul out any youngsters he spotted who had already sat through the whole show, a problem we thankfully never had at the Theatre De Luxe, as I shall describe later.

From the thirties, through to the fifties the city centre cinemas would have smart doormen dressed in peaked military styled hats, tunic coats with braided collars and cuffs, and white gloves. They would manage the queues, and allow patrons in to get their tickets and be taken by smartly dressed usherettes with their torches to any empty seats. These splendidly attired attendants were essential to the management of the above mentioned system, as for the most popular films it was quite normal to queue outside until some seats were vacated, and then be told "four at 2/6", which meant those at the front of the queue would be admitted and shoehorned into an odd empty seat in a crowded cinema, often in the middle of the film. This constant movement of patrons during the showing of the film didn't seem to bother us much, and anyway didn't apply for the last performance, which is why the single performance on Sunday was popular as there were no interruptions. 

The major chain cinemas, and the local cinemas were considered respectable, but it was the independent city centre cinemas that had acquired a reputation, and which were increasingly frequented by the younger and rowdier elements of the otherwise dwindling cinema going public towards the end of the fifties. When I began going to the cinema though, none of this bothered my mother and me, as we happily visited any cinema that took our fancy. My mother had no one to go to the cinema with: my father couldn’t leave the house, and my brother would have been too old to go with his mother, and so I was the assigned companion on our seemingly endless visits to the cinema over a number of years.