It smelt damp up on the balcony.

There was an interesting model of the building in the foyer.

If they had unlimited money the first thing they’d do would be buy new seats.

Err…

That’s it!

In Part 1, I elaborated on how I became well known at the Odeon until moving away from Newcastle aged 18.

In the subsequent two decades since my teenage days, I made a few minor efforts to find out more about the Paramount. I recall hearing that it had become four screens and was intrigued as to how it had been done.

I became a member of the Entertainment & Leisure Industry Study group after meeting Malcolm Campbell at an Organ Concert at the Slough Granada & ended up buying a lot of his stock. I found out about the CTA and joined that as well. I combed back-copies of articles to find out more about Newcastle (not that there was very much published).

I visited the Newcastle City archives and failed to find any reference to the building in the card indexes. I looked at the outside of the building and could see that the stage dock door had become exit doors. I went along to see a film and was relieved to find that the Balcony was more-or-less intact, the new screen four apparently being formed from the front stalls & stage and a new proscenium being built in front of (and higher than) the old one. I still remained intrigued, however. How much of what I remembered was still in-situ? How much had been destroyed?

A number of years later, I was visiting Newcastle and came across “Cinemas of Newcastle” by Frank Manders. Whilst not specifically devoted to the Paramount, there was a considerable write-up over several pages along with a lot of interior photos of how the building had looked in the past. This was my first insight into how elaborate the Paramounts had been. (I had mixed up Paramount with Gaumont in my youth, due to the presence of Gaumont rubber mats beside the Machines in the Box).

Later still, I met frank Manders at the first Mercia Conference in Loughborough, who helpfully gave me two very useful pieces of information. Firstly contact details for Neil Thompson, an Operator who worked in the building and was very keen on it. Secondly, the correct reference number to access the plans at the City Archive office. (Being a Librarian by trade, Frank had access to the stack and had managed to track down and correctly categorise the lodged plans).

Acting on this information, I wrote a letter introducing myself to the Operator. This was to lead to some interesting exchanges over the years and my knowledge in other related matters occasionally being useful to him.

I visited the Archive offices several times in order to examine and understand the lodged plans about the building. The main plans had been carefully traced and hand inked by the Verity & Beverley practice to a high standard, presented on parchment-like thick linen paper. Like all plans, the execution was not exactly the same as intended and it was enjoyable to speculate on the reasons for this.

The preliminary plans initially submitted provided for a more elaborate foyer and somewhat better stage/backstage, allowing for a scenery storage dock. However the agreed submitted plans reduced this somewhat in order to increase seating capacity, the galleried foyer (possibly with Cafe) being simplified, although still enormous by UK Cinema standards.

In a similar variation, the main plans show the interior to be somewhat like Manchester with a huge ceiling dome & ornate Tympanum above the Proscenium. An as-built plan for ceiling level (blueprinted on regular paper rather than the elaborate submitted plans) shows the simpler flat ceiling as used for the sister Cinemas in Aurora and Denver, resulting in a much less elaborate catwalk system down the centre line of the roof for access to the chandelier winch.

Having studied the plans at length, it was finally time to renew my acquaintance with the Building and I arranged to spend some time with Neil who suggested he come in on his day off rather than a working day. (Newcastle had been running single-manning for a number of years so the duty operator had to do a certain amount of trotting around getting the shows on in the three boxes).

The day eventually dawned and accompanied by my better half, the Paramount beckoned.

The first striking difference was the wet lobby- the external paybox was gone and the left half was now a sweet shop with external access as well as from the Cinema. The colour scheme was now Odeon nursery (powder blue with yellow woodwork) and the two doorways up to the circle lobby and through to screen two were still in place. (The staircase down to the “usherette avoidance” route was walled off to exit directly to the side lane, stealing a bit of shop space in the process.)

We met up with Neil and we spent some time trying to work out why we had never actually met. He had originally worked at the Queens and transferred over to the Odeon at about the time my visits were tailing off due to getting more involved at the University Theatre, City Hall and Theatre Royal. He had asked his Chief though, who vaguely remembered me (he had been number 3 at the time & was a quiet chap who didn’t say much).

We briefly went into the downstairs Box to dump bags (it looked almost the same as in 1974) and took in the two mini screens before making the long trek up to the back of screen 1. On the upright of the very top step, Neil pointed out the remains of the original paramount carpet that was the only obvious bit left in the building. Although over 60 years old, it was still very vibrant and striking, instantly recognisable (even as a fragment) as matching the design of the interior photos.

Pausing briefly to take in the atmosphere of the former balcony (still lit with the cleaners lights), we continued the journey onwards and upwards.

The staircase up to the box looked almost exactly the same as the first time I saw it 30 years before, the only obvious difference being the use of long life energy efficient lamps in place of tungsten ones.

Entering the box was like a time warp- the Cinemation was still there, the walls were still grey, the floor red, the Machines Vic 8s. When they were first converted for Xenon, the original Peerless lamphouses had been removed from the mechanisms & stored in the roof void, being replaced by Kalee units. However, at some stage they had been refitted and definitely looked the part. Looking more closely, however, there were inevitable differences. The Westrex open construction amp racks had been cleared out and there was now a modern 19″ rack for the Dolby equipment behind the Cinemation. The two Stelmars had been moved over into the corner and the slide lantern had gone.

The two huge meters were still in-situ, as were the DC controls & mimics for the rectifier feed, although they had been painted over. The operating switches for manual control of everything in the custom panels had been replaced by the usual hotch-potch of miscellaneous MK buttons and the ganged 0-20 volume controls had also gone. There was some modern equipment in-situ- a large screen Barco style projector & associated telecoms equipment was installed where #2 lime used to be, it seems that projected sports events were doing well.

Seeing the Barco reminded me of my first meeting with the Eidophor, the original hot mercury based TV projector that used to get hired in for special events. About the size of an American fridge, this Black & White device worked on the Epidiascope principle where it shone a lot of light onto the mercury bath (which changed reflective characteristics based on the TV picture through means I don’t entirely remember) then an enormous lens collected the incident light & focussed it onto the screen. It couldn’t have been very efficient and wasn’t particularly bright but it did the job. I think my first encounter was the afternoon of the celebrated Cassius Clay/George Forman fight in 1974 and we had a colour telly at home by then anyway!

The rewind room where I used to drink the evaporated milk tea felt different- I eventually twigged that it was because the ceiling lantern had been removed and boarded over, making the room very gloomy.

The resistance room was a lot untidier than the days of Barney, being full of tools & bits & pieces piled around. There was a 1940s/50s Odeon stalk ashtray (the sort where you pressed and it spun the dimp away inside) that Neil was hoping to clean up. The resistances were still in-situ and I was surprised to see that the labelling on them was just paper- I would have expected them to have been engraved as part of the original installation but there was no evidence of rivets or residue.

The Rectifier room was also very gloomy, due to the removal of the greenhouse style lantern. Apparently they had received break-ins through the lanterns both backstage and on the box so they had all been removed a number of years previously & burglar alarms installed.

The Hewittic rectifiers were still in-situ, although the front access doors had been chained up and padlocked for “health & safety reasons”. A trip round the back proved what a nonsense bit of officialdom that decision was as the racks have open rears. I’m not certain what the risk is of mercury encapsulated in a glass bottle securely mounted in a steel frame but I’m sure it is negligible if you don’t mess about with it. That brought to mind a story about the Byker Odeon (Black’s Regal) from the other Operator called Mick- when they had been redecorated, one of the painters had been kneeling on the mesh top of the rectifier & broke the bottle. Now quite knowing what to do with the mercury, they decanted it into a jamjar where it probably stayed until demolition!

All of the wiring behind the contactor panel had been removed along with the stocks of Cinemoid- the area was completely clear.

There was one old familiar friend in the rectifier room, the slide lantern that we used to project the scores of the F.A. Cup Final (in 1973, Sunderland vs Leeds, or maybe it was 1974, Liverpool vs Newcastle. I recall that Sunderland played Newcastle the following week and whoever wasn’t in the final slaughtered the winners, if anyone was bothered enough to place it). The lantern looked very forlorn and had lost its most important bits.

We then trekked down to backstage via the exit corridor route. On the way, I pointed out to him the hole where Mick Seed had confessed to me that he lost the wires into the conduit when repairing a lampholder on a wall fitting- so he had just removed the whole thing and made good (in a token way- I don’t think he even put a cover on the conduit box!). This amused Neil considerably, I had told him the story before but he hadn’t made the connection between what he must have seen hundreds of times before.

Passing the front circle exit, I was pleased to see another legacy item still in place on the wall- the six-potentiometer mic mixer control for stage shows. An operator could work this whilst skulking in the doorway behind the drapes, mostly unseen.

Backstage had been redecorated but still had that utilitarian feel to it of painted brickwork and narrow corridors. We went firstly into the new box for screen 4, which had been fashioned out of two dressing rooms and the corridor beyond the back wall of the stage. This was my first glimpse of screen 4, pleasantly sized and with angled splay walls towards the stage. The machine had an oversized projection port but no observation port- the roofline of the suspended ceiling abutted the top of the opening so that the operator had to stoop to see the screen.

We then went upwards to take in the battery room and roof. I had ruined an admittedly horrible shirt by brushing against the cells previously (I might have been trying out the hygrometer) so I wasn’t going to make the same mistake! 120 2v cells arranged all round the room, it provided the maintained lighting all over the building but could only run it for 20 minutes so wasn’t much use during the winter of discontent! I persuaded Neil to go up onto the stage roof. I wasn’t too bothered about the tank room but a look onto the grid would tell me a lot about what had happened to the stage. We had a lot of difficulty getting the door open, it had been bodged shut to keep pigeons out and was proving stubborn. I felt my anxiety levels rise, if I couldn’t have seen in I would have been very frustrated and disappointed. Then, Voila! Neil managed to get it to open and we both peered in. A strange sight greeted us. In amongst all of the bird lime and feathers, we could see the header pulleys. Surprisingly, there were still steel wire ropes in abundance, although most of them were slack. It was obvious that the Safety Curtain was still there as the counterweight ropes were still under tension, as was the hauling rope. I took photographs of the grid and the hauling engine, fascinated that so much should still survive, abandoned and serving no purpose whatsoever. We peered down through the grid to the top of the false ceiling some 45′ or so below. (It was a 60′ grid). Neil commented that had had forgotten how high the grid was and how much unused space below. I was tempted to trek across to the loading gallery, however I was mindful of Mrs. Grey waiting patiently on the roof below.

Carrying on down to the boiler house level, we viewed the new boilers filling maybe 10% of the space the old ones did. There was still the smell of fuel oil from the tank area, although natural gas was used now. The vaccum plant was still the same and the intake room not much changed, although the switchgear to change sub-stations had gone.

The plenum chamber was identical to the last time I saw it, other than the addition of safety guards on the main fan drive belts. The Master Brenograph had been cleared out from under the escape stair at the far end of the room, although Neil had made an innovation- he had arranged to get a sunflood in the air intake duct to make the job of changing the filters easier. (The intake filters were new- originally there were just large vertical louvres, although the recycled air was filtered.)

There was one other unusual sight in the basement, passing through a paint store we found ourselves in the access area under the remains of the organ lift. Whilst the platform had gone and it could be seen that the orchestra rail had been partially smashed to allow for the new sloping floor of screen four, the remains of the little door for Organist access could still be seen.

We couldn’t see the remains of the orchestra pit or the stage contactors as Neil didn’t have the keys, however we were able to visit another time capsule, the prompt corner.

Opening a very narrow door on the stage left corridor, we found ourselves behind the switchboard. Neil cautioned me that it wasn’t totally isolated, the wiring for the screen 4 tab warmers was still connected via the motorised dimmer in the corner. The board light still worked, as did the prompt corner light. Here we found ourselves in a small L shaped space left over after screen 4 was added. The safety curtain controls were still there (although not having noticed any evidence of the Iron having been chained to the grid I wisely didn’t touch it) and the remnants of the counterweight frame were along the stage side wall, including all of the rope locks at low level. Counterweights were stacked up neatly behind the switchboard and there were various control switches on the wall for running a stage show. One thing that I remembered had disappeared- there used to be a speaker & microphone for a home made intercom system up to the box. The six mic input sockets were still there, using 2A mains plugs as connectors.

I did look to see if there were any dip traps visible, but they were all covered by the new wall and floor of Screen 4.

I was never entirely clear what dated from the opening and what was from the early 50s electrical refurbishment when the Major 10 scene Preset was replaced with the simpler Pride controls & motorised dimmers. However, I imagine that before then an Operator was needed in the prompt corner even when it fully went over to films (not a problem for Cine-Variety).

Stepping back into reality, we had a quick peek into screen 4, although we couldn’t see too much because there was a show on. The structure of the proscenium arch could be clearly seen, however, slightly piercing the splay walls towards the back of the screen. This also explained the old dock door having been turned into an exit, originally there was a 1′ drop onto the stage, although now the slope had been re-arranged to level with the exit doors. As I glanced at the faces of the people watching the flickering shadows, I wondered if any of any of them realised that they were surrounded by all of that vintage stage technology beyond the false floors, walls and ceiling.

Our journey was now drawing to a close. As we walked up the stalls exit corridor that became the screen 4 access route, Neil commented that the Fire Brigade had recommended partial-panelling the walls, although neither of us were entirely clear as to why. As screen 1 show was about to finish, we went up to the Royal lounge to admire the ceiling pendant light fittings above the double height foyer. Neil mentioned that he kept them lamped up with long life rough service tungsten light bulbs and had resisted relamping with energy efficient lamps for the simple reason that they look horrible! we then went to take in the ambience of the decorative lighting in the main hall as the house lights faded up. It may have been mucked about with over the years and somewhat mistreated by an unsympathetic management but even as a shadow of it’s former self, the Paramount was still a great place to see a film.

I have revisited the building several times since then & kept in contact with Neil. He is now the Chief of the Gate complex and the former Paramount has been abandoned. The story of the listing recommended by English Heritage and subsequent de-listing by Baroness Blackstone was so dubious as to make it into the Nooks and Corners column of Private Eye.

I very nearly went to the closing night performance. However, I decided to keep my memories as happy ones. One thing I’d really like to see one more time is the beautiful garden mural on the safety curtain, although it is now likely to be only seen again during the late stages of demolition.

At the time of writing, the future of the grand old lady of Pilgrim Street is looking very shaky indeed. It is now owned by a property developer (who owns the entire block), it is being guarded by a security firm and there are large retail chains showing interest in turning it into a shopping experience. It seems that the City Council are unaware of how special the building is and how much of an asset it could be as a new venue for Newcastle. (Those who are aware are indifferent). It is not quite on a Par with the Coventry Theatre saga where for indifference read hostility!

The building was well worthy of Grade 2 listing and any attempt to retain the facade is probably pointless tokenism as the quality of the design was in the interior spaces, not the somewhat restrained monumental exterior.

My thanks to Neil Thompson for being so helpful over the years, as well as to Frank Manders, Mervyn Gould & Karen Grey for indulging my hobby-horse.

(This article appeared in the Mercia Bioscope issue number 87, May 2003 and was written after several years of nagging by Mervyn, an old acquaintance who is a retired electrician, stage manager, university tutor and gasman. Interiors of some of the spaces described can be found in the Mercia Cinema Society gallery

Much has been written about how the Paramount Corporation came to build a chain of huge American style “Movie Theaters” in Britain before WW2. As a schoolboy growing up in Newcastle during the 60s I knew nothing of this, however I did know that the Pilgrim Street Odeon was something special, eclipsing most of its City peers for scale and style. This article is a very personal recollection of the building during my formative years and the fascination I developed for the technology within.

As a teenager with an interest in stage lighting, Cinema was always an enjoyable experience but flickering shadows on the silver screen were never a match for the excitement of a live performance. Similarly, the deco style interiors were pleasant but uninspiring compared to the wedding cake style ornate plasterwork of Edwardian theatres, particularly the Theatre Royal in Grey Street. On this basis, I had always been a little dismissive of the Cinema. This was all to change when I came to realise that 20th century style could be just as interesting as 19th Century heritage, just as important to cherish and retain.

My earliest specific recollections of going to the Odeon were back in the late 60s, the interval punctuated by the unexpected vertical arrival of an orchestra pit ice cream stall strikingly lit by a fiercely bright white spotlight beam from above our heads. I recall turning round, gazing up at the numerous openings and wondering what was in there.

A few years later, I embarked on construction of a model theatre and used this as an excuse to talk my way in at most of the Stage Doors in the town. I used to ask for scraps & offcuts of colour filter material (known as “Gel”, from the origins of using coloured Gelatine) to colour up my cardboard battens & footlights complete with torch bulbs.

Asking at the Odeon eventually yielded results and I remember the occasion vividly, one cold Saturday morning in November. I was led through the dark foyers to the stalls and parked by the stage left pass door whilst my guide disappeared through the mysterious doorway towards the backstage areas. From my vantagepoint, I noticed that the only light on in the auditorium was a single naked lamp on a stand in the centre of the stage in front of the closed screen tabs. An ageing, rotund, bald gentleman was busying himself with the cable for the light, casting sinister shadows on the drapes and walls as he moved. This was my first introduction to Barney McGlen, the Chief Projectionist and an archetypal Chief of the old school. After a couple of minutes he emerged back in the stalls, having been advised of my presence. He gruffly acknowledged me & what I wanted, then led the way up to his domain, the Box area. Getting there was quite a trek and he was panting a little by the time we had completed the stairs to the back of the Circle and the final flight that led into the projection suite, 120 steps in total. We passed through the box with me gawking at the machinery within and through further rooms until we arrived in the rectifier room. Here, behind all of the control gear & mysterious equipment was where the Gel lived, Strand “Cinemoid” rolled up and separated by tissue paper. This was a lot more casual than I was used to, the “proper” theatres had large plan type cabinets with the dozens of different colours carefully catalogued, whilst the Odeon seemed to be able to survive on a handful of colours. Barney noticed my interest in all of the equipment and made me a generous offer- if I came back in two weeks time at 10am, he would happily show me round & explain how everything worked. He then bustled me out of the Box, on the basis that he had far too much to do to entertain me that morning!

Two weeks later (which is a long time for a schoolboy), I duly presented myself at the Theatre and an usherette rang up to the box on the house phone. This time, I noticed that all of the foyer lighting was on, compared to the murky gloom previously. I wound my way up to the back Circle and was surprised to hear a soundtrack as I reached the top. Pausing briefly, I could see there was a film showing, which didn’t bode well for my guided tour! When I reached the Box I took in the ambience of a working projection room- spools turning on the first machine, subdued lighting, bright light leaks around the lamphouse and near the gate, whirrs & clicks from the mechanism, tinny soundtrack from the monitor speaker above. Barney advised me that this unexpected special show had been pencilled in the previous week. He would be on shift again the Saturday after next, which was Christmas Eve no less, so unlikely to get a special show at this late stage. In the meantime, I was welcome to stay and watch the film, which hadn’t been on too long

The film was Cliff Richard’s “The Young Ones”, part of which is set in the Finsbury Park Empire. Even at my age, I knew that you didn’t turn on Battens using Cue light controls, however it remains a firm favourite of mine to re-watch when the mood takes me.

Another two weeks later, made my way back to the Odeon. No one was around in the lobby, so I wandered up to the Box entrance, which was locked, not unsurprisingly as I was a little early. I took in the ambience of the hall, lit by a number of naked 500-watt general service lamps hanging from the ceiling (& not normally noticable). The cleaners’ lights made everything look bright but rather bland. I could see cleaners busying themselves with hoses down in the stalls, which they plugged in to connectors on the wall. Shortly afterwards, a couple of people I hadn’t seen before arrived, doing a double take at me sitting in the back row of the Circle. I explained why I was there, which they happily took in their stride. This was my first introduction to Bill Furness, the Number One, along with one of two trainees. With the passage of time I cannot re-create that visit too accurately, however I can hopefully convey the sentiments of my impressions that morning.

We briefly popped into the Box to abandon coats & bags, and then it was next stop the Boiler House as they were expecting an oil delivery. The Odeon had a steam system, originally Coke fired then converted to fuel oil at a later date. The Boiler House was massive, with two huge Boilers that would quite happily have graced an ocean liner. Oil was sprayed through an injector and then ignited by a continuously re-firing electric spark. It was nominally automatic, although in practice it was necessary to clean the nozzles & electrodes occasionally or it would not ignite & shut down. There was also a third smaller boiler for domestic use- i.e. hot water for the sink taps around the building. Behind the boilers was an exit door that led to a service corridor in the Cafe area- a handy route to avoid the usherettes when re-visiting the Operators on subsequent occasions. After the oil had been delivered, we returned to the Basement to see the other service areas.

Next to the Boiler House was a small room that contained the Centralised Vacuum Plant- this provided suction to connectors all over the building so that cleaners didn’t have to carry heavy Hoovers round with them. Like all Vacuums, this was very noisy in use!

A third room was the main electrical intake to the Building. Here were the various meters, switch/fuses and cables serving all of the electrical systems. It was even possible for the Electricity Company to switch the Building load between two different sub-stations if necessary. Huge armoured cables left the massive distribution board to serve various parts of the building.

The fourth room was the largest and extended entirely under the stage & the yard beyond. This was the enormous Plenum Chamber where fresh air was drawn in from the outside, filtered, mixed with recycled air, washed, heated, chilled, fragranced and then ducted to grilles around the ceiling, lobbies and under-balcony area. A large motor powered an enormous fan via belts and an even larger motor served a large compressor for the refrigeration system. Air wasn’t washed, fragranced or chilled any more but the plant remained impressive. The plant changed the building air every 30 minutes on lower speeds, being capable of every ten minutes on full, controlled by a large handle that wiped a contact across a number of studs behind a protective glass.

Also under the stage at crossover passage level were the former Band Room (now the Handymen’s CubbyHole), the Organ Lift (converted to the Ice Cream stand) and the large motorised Orchestra Pit which could rise to level with the Stage.

Going up to Stage Level we visited the Prompt Corner- here was the large stage switchboard in an alcove which controlled all of the Battens, footlights, Wing Floods & Front of House spotlights. Here I discovered my first terminology clash between Theatre & Cinema- the floats were called Foots & the Balcony spots were called Pageants.

The stage was surprisingly shallow without much wing space but it was equipped with a full counterweight system (although the screen took up six sets) and lots of Dip traps into which large towers containing the Wing floods were plugged. The connectors were an eye-opener- wooden plugs with ebony handles and copper strips for connectors, potentially very dangerous in these enlightened times and a bit dodgy even then. Three large loudspeakers were on trolleys behind the huge screen- huge Bass “Bins” with horn style speakers above. The counterweight sets were worked from stage level, the theatre norm (in older buildings) being for flymen to work the sets from a gallery above.

Bill explained that the screen could be packed off into the fly tower single handedly but it took at least two of them pulling very hard to get it down again. He also explained about the Safety Curtain- they had to lower it during every stage show but often wondered whether the motor would lift it out again, having to resort to manual hauling being a very painful slow process up on the grid. They also often had run-ins with touring stage crews who wanted to set up PA where the Iron Curtain would crush it.

We then went up to the Box, pausing briefly at the circle front where he pointed out the stage mixer control, six large knobs on a wall mounted Westrex control panel for setting up microphone levels. This route also enlightened me to another method of usherette avoidance- the 1st floor dressing room corridor had a passdoor onto the front circle exit route which also could be used to get up to the upper circle foyer via an uncarpeted stairwell. It did, however, pass the fridge room, where the usherettes put their feet up between intervals.

Finally in the box, he showed me the major systems.

On the extreme left was the twin turntable Non-sync, for playing interval records (non-vocal “top of the poppers” stuff was popular, I particularly remember “Time is Tight” being track 1 of a favourite interval record).

Next to the non-sync was one of two Stelmars using low intensity 30 Amp carbons & elaborate optical systems open to view. (They were both different, one was a genuine Steel & Martin Stelmar from Frank Brockliss with motorised carbons, the other an F J Pride design with hand fed carbons).

In the centre of the box were the two enormous Victoria 8 35mm Projectors with Super Zenith arc lamphouses (running at 120 Amp current). Next to the portholes were the sound controls including the mechanically linked volume knob next to both machines (on a scale of 0-20) as well as switch panels for working curtains, masking lights etc.

Next to Number 2 Machine was the wooden Cinemation Console. This was the Building Management system for controlling lights & services, as well as automating the show, triggered by impulses from foil on the film. Under a protective glass cover were two large timeclocks (the second for Sunday hours) and two large drums using split-pins for selecting the show sequence.

Beyond the second Stelmar was the Slide lantern, used for special event slides, and “Is there a Doctor in the House?” type messages.

On the back wall of the Box was the rewind bench, where the 6000′ (60 minute) spools were rewound as well as checked, made up and broken down. To the left of the bench were the open construction Amplifier Racks from western Electric. If I remember correctly there were 5 valve amplifiers, each running 30 Watts RMS which didn’t sound much to me but was ample using efficient horn systems. There was one channel for the optical sound, three channels for magnetic sound (left, right and effects speakers in the roof) & one channel for stage show use to two speakers in the proscenium arch.

The Operator’s rest room provided the welcome diversion of a Kettle, the technical library & some comfy chairs. I became very fond of that room & developed a taste for tea made with condensed milk- they didn’t have a fridge & it kept longer out of a tin!

Beyond the rest room along a corridor was the resistance room, which was also the workshop. This was next to the rectifier room, with the four huge mercury vapour rectifiers that glowed an eerie blue-purple colour when in use. A small door led out onto a flat roof that provided access into the roof void and up onto the projection suite roof.

Over the next few years, I became the Projection room equivalent of a Stage Door Johnny, making frequent visits to meet the team, talk about the equipment and try to get the balance right between being helpful & a nuisance. I was shown how to clean and carbon up the lamphouses, work the Stelmars, lace up the machines, splice using cement, understand the Cinemation, appreciate variety style lighting, prepare & show slides and develop an appreciation for the showmanship state of mind. No money was ever offered or expected but I certainly quenched my thirst for knowledge and the Operators had a chance to liven up an otherwise dull shift by chatting with a lad who showed an interest in their work. By the time I had the opportunity to work shows there, I was then working as a casual at three other venues and the Odeon was falling out of favour, the 74/75 drop-wall tripling proving an acoustic disaster for live shows. I did get a payment in kind once- I had worked a Saturday morning show (some friends of mine had a Band and had persuaded the Odeon to let them play on the Orchestra Pit). The grateful Deputy Manager gave me a complimentary ticket for Dionne Warwicke who was performing two shows that evening. This was my only time I saw the Safety Curtain lowered and I was impressed to see that it still had the painted garden scene that matched the original interior decoration scheme from the 1931 opening.

Thinking back to a time three decades ago, I am surprised at lots of trivial memories that are still fresh, like Barnie McGlen wearing his trademark Editor’s eyeshade & rolled up sleeve retainers telling me that film never touched the floor.

I can recall Bill Furness taking his false teeth out to eat his sandwiches, Mick Seed (the young rebel number 3) playing Pink Floyd Albums on the non-sync and Barnie getting me to hold down a rectifier relay using an insulated rod because one of them wasn’t striking up properly.

I even remember finding a £1 note in the under-floor air ducts when exploring, as well as realising that the large heap of scrap in the corner of the Plenum was actually the remains of the Master Brenograph effects projector, removed to make room for the Cinemation Console.

I can remember Bill asking me if I could remember where odd plans could be found around the building, as they were needed for the tripling work planned during 1974. I recall standing in the partially constructed new Box & visiting after it was completed. I can remember walking on-stage post-tripling during a fit-up and being shocked at how much the drop-wall dominated the view through the proscenium.

I moved away from Newcastle in 1976 and didn’t give too much thought to the building for a number of years. However I was able to repeat my technical visit in 1994, the subject of part 2 of this article.

Down to London on Wednesday for a Trustee meeting of the CMA www.thecma.com. First problem- much slower traffic than normal getting to Wakefield Station. Compounded by the station car park being full and no change for display and display!

Trains on time but not running in Scotland, GNER must have lined them all up in Newcastle or something overnight during the storms.

Walking down from Leicester Square to the Mall, went past burberrys, windows all painted out black inside. Was this a shame factor? Now that their products are so Chav-tastic the smart set might be turning their back on them and buying Yaeger instead.

Something spooky happened during the meeting, we received an unexpected incoming videoconference call from an empty room somewhere else. It happened twice and both times were after some serious discussion. Could OfCom possibly be listening in care of the security services?

Returning to Kings X, I was given a “Standard Lite” & read on the cover that Burberry’s profits were way down. You’d think that whilst the margins on caps might be lower than on two-piece skirt suits the volumes would make up for it. Maybe the dobbers all buy market burberi rip-off brands…

The return back to Yorkshire also went smoothly & I had time to join the Town Council planning meeting which went on twice as long as normal due to presentations from a Developer and the Victorian Society. However, I did get a virtual “look” from Karen over the mobile for being a dirty stopout.

As for the cranes, the following url did the rounds at work on Tuesday. It made me laugh…

Murphy’s Law

Funny how the brain works, though. Seeing the horizontally over-extended booms when checking the link for the blog reminded me of a very serious story about a cherry-picker at a quarry, as told to me by the Service Manager of Furse. I’ll save that for another time.