The King's Cinema

East Cowes, Isle of Wight

1953 - 1955

Pushing through the side exits the bustling rush of children leaving the cinema spilling onto street would all go blinking into the bright midday, liken to noisy moles emerging from the darkness. Many a shootout and sword fight had been won and lost, we had even fought hand to hand battles with Nazi storm troopers or a band of Apache braves. All was played out with noise and gusto upon the battlefields of Church Path and Well Road as we made our way home from the Kings Cinema in East Cowes. Almost all our initial cinema going was born out of the Saturday Morning Matinees, there were always a couple of short feature films and a mixture of crazy cartoons. These morning matinees were always extremely noisy and boisterous occasions, and the feature film was always the catalyst for whatever battle or challenge awaited the homeward journey. As I grew older, I began spending less time in East Cowes, possibly due to the fraught and unhappy home life that I was experiencing, choosing instead to visit my Grandmother or my Auntie Norma in West Cowes. Very often I would visit the Royalty Cinema in Cowes sitting happily and soon lost in fantasy or thrills as I sat in the ninepenny’s enjoying my tub of Walls ice cream at the interval. Sometimes I would be joined by my cousin Judith or my lovely old aunt Min.

There was no doubt that the Kings in East Cowes was by far my favourite cinema of all upon the whole Island although it was hardly a fair comparison insofar as I had only visited one other outside of Cowes, that being the Medina Cinema at Newport. On that occasion I had queued in the rain with my Grandmother who had promised to take me to see Davy Crocket, King of the Wild Frontier. Oh, how desperately I wanted to be the first boy in East Cowes to be seen wearing a fur raccoon hat with a dangle down tail like Davy Crocket wore in the film and to own a sheaf knife with a Jim Bowie curve. I sang the catchy theme song from the film long and hard until my throat rasped but sad to say I never did realise my dreams, no hat, no knife.

I have had an unexplainable lifelong love for the ambiance and blissful warmth of Italian restaurants from the very first time I watched the now famous Spaghetti Scene in The Lady and the Tramp. I truly fell in love with this soulful and touching animation and am still happy to watch it to this day. My love for this cherished film is amplified by a certain other memory. I had been taken to see the film by my auntie Norma who had come over to East Cowes when she finished her work at the Coop offices on York Street and after spending twenty minutes or so in the queue, we were in. Without exception Auntie Norma chose to sit in the more expensive seats towards the back of the cinema. The lights were up and the sweet strains of Mantovani were playing as people streamed through the cinema taking their seats. The whole auditorium was buzzing with excitement, I had been told that the film had even been mentioned on the radio. I could not recall ever seeing the Kings Cinema being as full, there was no doubting the fact it was going to be a full house.

Amidst the general hubbub in the cinema, I heard a piercing voice rising above all others ringing out one instruction after another. ‘Please do excuse me, Maria further, further.’ I recognised it, I remembered it well from the Spurs Café, this irritating and insistent voice was closing towards us. ‘No Maria darling, go further down, look, are you blind darling, there are two seats together in the middle, go on push on.’ The two vacant seats to my immediate right noisily folded forward to their seated position, they had been taken up by Maria and her mother. Maria Jones was sitting next to me; my heartbeat was audible. I could not believe it was happening, I did not think things like this were possible, neither did the pear drop which I had just swallowed. For the longest second the world or universe has ever recorded our eyes met she smiled into mine I smiled back lost in the seas of brightness and wonder. Bending forward she whispered a husky ‘hello’ and with my eyes glazed I replied, with a soundless nod. At the zenith of the Spaghetti Scene, she reached over and squeezed my hand for just that moment. It was as if an explosion of white fire had seared through my being. I swore to myself in that moment I would never wash that embrace of connection away. My Auntie Norma leaned overlooking down to me saying ‘do you know that young lady?’ I was embarrassed and shrugged a not too convincing ‘no’ as the rising heat burst over my cheeks like a rash, fortunately we were in the darkness of the cinema.

When The Lady and The Tramp had finished the house lights gradually came up and the National Anthem began playing loud and long from the huge black speakers on either side of the screen. Auntie Norma tugged at my arm to ensure my cooperation as we joined the greater part of the audience standing obediently in silent respect. As the last strains of the anthem faded, I was eager to say a quiet goodbye to Maria but when I looked to my right, I was amazed to discover that both Maria and her mother had left quietly as the National Anthem had been playing. I saw them both in the melee beside the main door as people began bustling forward and for one brief moment I could see Maria silhouetted in the exit doorway, my hand came up to wave, but she was gone.

Although me and Maria never did have our Spaghetti Scene, I have never forgotten those blossoming moments of first love or the brief touch of her hand upon mine, or her lovely face.

It is sad to say I never saw Maria again.