Throwback Thursday: Movies we loved, and duets down the pub

We have heard from Tom Jones again, that lively expat who writes from faraway Florida.

“It’s been a while since I offered a contribution to your Throwback Thursday column,” he writes.

“Putting forward my two cents and ruminations - or was that expressed as ramations in Cork jargon back in the old days? - I still enjoy reading it as always while lazing on a sunny afternoon. ittedly, sometimes with a libation in hand to enhance the feeling of nostalgia.”

Tom adds: “A long time ago, I took an interest in the writings of (American history) Studs Terkel as he recorded the opinions of people about a working life.

“So, I enjoy reading in your column of people of my own vintage discussing growing up in Cork city. Sometimes quite similar to my own experience, albeit sometimes with a different characteristic or connotation.

“Nonetheless, I still enjoy a ramble down the Auld Boreen of Reminiscence...”

Tom continues: “Recently, I was interested when some readers wrote about the showing of so-called risqué movies to Cork cinemas.

“I believe that trend began at the Ritz on Washington Street in the mid to late ’60s.

“The whispers went rapidly round that there was a flash of flesh or a showing of skin in a film that was worth a glance. And, as the word spread around town of what was to be seen or shown, it took on a life of its own - growing to Maga proportions of disinformation. Much like a speech from Donald Trump!

“Even with the oul’ wans talking on the street corner, the inevitable inquiry would arise: ‘C’mere, did ye hear wat’s going on lately, they sez there’s a dirty picture been shown in town’.

“So, with all that talk going round that a film of such sinful debauchery was to be seen, what could a young lad do only to check it out for himself? Curious by nature of course, but weren’t we supposed to be coming of age anyway, so to speak?”

Tom recalls: “The word on the street was, ‘twould be worth the ission price to see for yourself. To attempt to use the correct vernacular here, ‘C’mere boy, I’ll tell ya like, ’tis definitely worth a sconce like’.

“Just from the word on the street alone, that film was probably extended from a three-day booking to a week or more.”

Of course, those were wildly different times in Cork and Ireland.

“C’mon guys,” says Tom, “surely you too can recall those years of yore in Catholic Cork when Bishop Connie Lucey reigned supreme?”

He then asks of the ‘dirty picture’ genre: “Was this the genesis of pushing the envelope to test or challenge the dictates of morality? That from such an innocuous beginning, ideas rose to change the Religious Political Complex that dominated life in Ireland for so many decades?

“That a new dawn was on the horizon and the Age of Aquarius was slowly beginning?

“Setting us free from an austere religious dogma, many might say oppressive.”

Tom adds of the cinema-going days yore: “Incidentally, someone also mentioned seeing Helga the movie. I would not place this in the category or realm of risqué movies.

“Helga actually was a German sexual educational documentary made in 1967. It went on to be very successful and shown not only in Europe but throughout the world.

“I believe it was first shown in Cork at the Palace around the early 1970s. Again, probably booked for a week but retained by demand for much longer.”

Another Throwback Thursday reader, Pat Kelly, also has memories of cinema-going back in the day.

“In your column on February 20,” writes Pat, “Mick McCarthy mentions the hall outside Sarsfields Court where films were shown, and also that the owner had opened a cinema in the Cameo. Shane, starring Alan Ladd, was mentioned.

“Ladd was not tall, and his leading ladies were often taller.

“Now, you cannot have the female interest taller than the star, can you? And so the film studio would have the ladies standing in a trench for their scenes, so that Alan Ladd could tower confidently over them.”

Pat adds: “I also read of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, sailing into Cobh, where the bells played The Cuckoo Waltz in their honour.

“Some years ago, I watched a documentary about that famous pair, in which it was claimed that they had made their first landing in England, where the Cuckoo Waltz was played for them. It completely ignored the truth of the story, and Cobh. It seems that EVERYTHING happens in England! That glaring error was never corrected.”

Pat Kelly was fortunate enough not to have to find the money for the pictures when he was a lad.

“I had never paid to go to the Savoy, as I had an uncle who was an usher there. He would unlock the door that led to the side street, next to the men’s toilet, and other ushers would also let us in.

“I have many happy memories of the cinema back then. At the Lee, during the interval, they always played the Harry Lime theme from The Third Man.”

We also asked in Throwback Thursday if any female readers ed being taken to movies they didn’t like by their boyfriends, and what ones they really did enjoy seeing.

Katie O’Brien was quick to answer. “My girlfriends and I loved the big musicals like Annie Get Your Gun, Calamity Jane, Oklahoma, The Greatest Show In Earth.

“I was staying with relatives in Dublin in the 1950s when High Society came out, and from one end of the day to the other, you could hear nothing but True Love, sung by Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly, on the radio.

“Later on, of course, came incredible big and glamorous shows like Mary Poppins, My Fair Lady and Funny Girl were released, while nobody who was there when it opened will ever forget the amazing opening scenes of The Sound Of Music, with the camera swooping dizzily over the valleys and mountains of Austria before zooming in on Julie Andrews singing her heart out. What a film!”

Katie adds: “We didn’t mind cowboy movies, although never had the same ion for them as the boys did. If there was some humour in one, then we enjoyed that, and especially if women were actively involved.

“I seem to one called The Guns Of Fort Petticoat, at the Palace, and in the street later acting out the roles the women took in it.

“We would sing the hit songs from the musicals for years afterwards, and I believe these were also very popular in the pubs also.

“Before such establishments went upmarket and highly fashionable, it was the tradition for everyone to sing a song during the evening.”

Katie recalls evening sing-songs one summer in Inchigeelagh too (the year Johnny Creedon was trying to turn the place into a holiday resort.)

“I Tim Cramer and Bill O’Herlihy from the Examiner had come down to cover some of the happenings, and when they were requested to contribute to the night’s entertainment, didn’t hesitate but gave a spirited rendering of The Beaux Gendarmes (from Offenbach’s Genevieve de Brabant), keeping perfect time with each other, and very evidently enjoying themselves tremendously.

We’re public guardians, bold but wary,

And of ourselves, we take good care,

To risk our precious lives, we’re chary,

When danger looms, we’re never there

But when we meet some helpless woman,

Or little boys that do no harm -

Chorus

We run them in, We run them in,

We run them in, We run them in,

We show them, we’re the beaux gendarmes...

“I often wondered where they had learned that duet which they performed so smoothly together,” says Katie. “Was there a performance of the operetta put on by the G & S in Cork around then perhaps?”

Bill O’Herlihy, of course, went on to fame and fortune as a sports commentator with RTÉ, while Tim Cramer became a director of The Examiner and wrote one of the finest evocations of growing up on Cork’s Northside, in The Life Of Other Days.

Does he still that summer in Inchigeelagh, I wonder?”

Katie, you have reminded us of the way people used to sing quite unselfconsciously in the street on their way home at night, or even when out for a walk during the day with a crowd of friends. On bus outings, picnic parties. The latest hits from the radio, a catchy number from a popular movie, an old ballad – you would hear songs everywhere.

And whistling. Wasn’t there a whistling delivery man with horse and cart in old Cork?

What happened to our own personal music- making? Has it all disappeared into official expensive venues, or become the prerogative only of street musicians?

Does nobody sing just for the pleasure of it, to shorten the long road home? Maybe we should start it again. Don’t mind if people stare. They will only be jealous!

Watching TV recently, with all those expensively-filmed heart-rending charity adverts featuring superstars, Tim Cagney got to ing how charities operated back in his childhood.

“Many years ago, before charitable organisations (particularly the big ones) developed into masters of mass marketing, bombarding our social media with multiple strategies on how to extract money from us in aid of worthy causes, things were a tad simpler.

“Can you when individuals used to visit private homes, perhaps on a monthly basis, seeking donations for the poor and needy? These were sometimes referred to as ‘the man from the pools’.

“There were many such charitable bodies, but - strangely, perhaps - I can only one, due mainly, I suppose, to the fact that it still exists. I refer to the Cork Sick Poor Society, which has been a feature of social concern in out city for over 200 years.”

Tim recalls one particular charity collector who often called to houses in Cork city, who was always on the look-out for some wares to sell to raise money.

“One day, my father decided it was high time to dispose of a rather aged suite of furniture. In the days before skips, he opted for the destruction of the pieces (a sofa and two armchairs) by chopping them to bits with hatchets.

“Three such implements were employed - one by himself, the others by me and my younger brother, Con.

“In the midst of this operation, my mother suddenly appeared in the room, to inform us that the charity collector was making his way up our garden path, to collect his monthly alms.

“We prudently downed our weapons, whilst Mam dealt with him at the front door.

“No sooner had he departed, the frenzied attack on our furniture resumed.”

Tim shares another story about a time when he won a charity prize.

“In later years, when I was working in an office on the South Mall, we were frequently visited by a chap. I can’t quite recall which charity he represented, but the donations were modest, and most of us contributed willingly.

“One day he appeared, bubbling with excitement, and told me I had won a prize. I had fleeting visions of taking early retirement, or - at the very least - buying a car. Sadly, the bounty amounted to just about enough to buy a brace of chicken suppers from Jackie Lennox!”

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