Nearly 70 years on since they were youngsters, many people still have vivid memories of the Saturday “tu’penny rush” when they would queue up for the children’s film shows at Derby’s numerous and now mostly forgotten cinemas. Many have shared their stories, some including references to “Old Flinty”, doorman at the Alexandra cinema, in Normanton, prompting his granddaughter, Janet Downing, to get in touch. Pat Parkin reports.

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Charlie Flint was a First World War regimental sergeant major in the Royal Artillery so he was the perfect choice, back in the 1930s, to keep the “tu’ppeny rush” kids in order when their shouting and screaming got a bit too much at the old Alex, in Normanton Road, Derby, on Saturday mornings.

His imposing persona, loud voice and a stick under his arm, which he would crack down hard on brass railings to call for order, sent shivers down some of the youngsters’ spines. And yet, says Janet Downing, of Pear Tree, “Old Flinty”, as they called him, was as kind a grandfather as any child could have.

“Really he was as soft as anything, strict but kind, and everyone liked him.”

Charlie joined the Alex staff when he came home after the First World War and, though our readers have described him as the doorman, Charlie was more of a manager, being in charge of everything, with most of his family on the cinema’s staff.

His wife, Lizzie, was the cleaner and his son, Fred, was the front-of-house commissionaire. Another son, Albert, was the drummer in the orchestra which used to play to accompany the silent films, while daughters Marjorie and Phyllis were usherettes and daughter-in-law Gertrude was in the kiosk, taking the money and issuing tickets.

Phyllis was Janet’s mother and she and her husband, Fred Jones, lived with Charlie at his home in Mount Street, Derby, after they married in 1937.

Janet was born in 1943 and, when Fred went off to fight in the Second World War, she and her mother stayed with Charlie.

“He was a loving, caring grandad to me and my mum during those days. I didn’t see my own father for a long time because of the war, so having Charlie there was great. When my dad came home from the war, we all lived happily together.”

When Janet was about five, her grandfather had his right leg removed because of gangrene. She thinks this might have been the result of a war wound. One reader mentioned that Charlie only had one arm but Janet is certain this was a mistake as she has a photograph of him taken, without a leg but with both arms intact.

Charlie ran the cinema very efficiently but it was at the special children’s film shows that he had to wield his authority to keep down the incredible noise of everyone shouting and to stop any “hanky panky”.

“If the usherettes, of which my mum was one, saw anything they didn’t approve of, they would call Charlie and he would soon sort it out,” laughed Janet.

Just as he had done in the First World War, the former sergeant-major used to carry a stick under his arm and he would sometimes beat it on the stage or brass railings. Then, when the noise had abated, he would threaten the audience with cancelling the show if there was any repetition of the uproar.

“No-one was really frightened of him but they knew they had to behave when grandad told them to,” said Janet. “I have heard dozens of tales about the funny and interesting things that happened.

“One time a youngster had been collecting manure after horses had been passing in the street because he could get a few coppers for it. He then took the bucket along to the pictures with him and wanted to take it inside. Grandad said that was not acceptable, so he confiscated it, but it was put aside and, after the show, the boy was allowed to take it with him.

“Everyone was poor in those days and some of the kids had a hard life but grandad never had a problem in disciplining them, unlike some of today’s youngsters.”

When his working day was over, Charlie enjoyed a pint of beer at the Bell and Castle or the Duke of York, which were just around the corner from his home but he never got drunk.

“Sadly, he died when I was six or seven years old. He was a great man, strict and a stickler for the rules, but a wonderful family man.

“He is buried in Nottingham Road cemetery with my grandmother. Even today, when I have my own grandchildren, I still miss him and I was delighted to read in Bygones that other people still remember him.”

Janet also has happy memories of going to open days at the Loco Works when the public, including the workers’ families, could go along and see inside the huge factory which employed thousands of Derby people. Her father, Fred Jones, worked in No 8 shop as a crane the chargehand and she still recalls proudly watching him display the cranes and lift trains into the air.

Do you remember local factory open days or have memories of children’s film shows? Do share your stories with other Bygone Derbyshire readers.

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