Bob Pearson — who was born and brought up in Bastwell, Blackburn, but has now lived in Australia for nearly half a century — remembers his childhood days.

iCANNOT remember how it started or when it ceased, but I do remember that this event was my idea of heaven.

It was the ‘tuppenny rush’ which took place at the Star Cinema in Blackburn — and I happily remember those afternoons, in the late thirties before the war.

Dad was sometimes in a benevolent mood and I would have the admittance fee to enter our local picture hall at 2pm on a Saturday, For the princely sum of 2d I spent a couple of hours adrift in a world of excitement, adventure and happiness.

If, for some reason, the fee was not available, it usually meant returning a couple of empty dandelion and burdock or Tizer bottles to Mrs Dobson’s corner shop — which I had previously stolen from her backyard!

Heading my list of favourites at the pictures, were the cowboy adventures with Tom Mix, Ken Maynard, and Buck Jones. We travelled in space with Buster Crabbe, or sat horrified at Boris Karloff, or Lon Chaney, billed as the Man with a Thousand Faces.

The rush began with a rabble of children queuing up outside the entrance, from the tiniest of tots to teenagers.

At 13 years of age, one was virtually a veteran — at 14 you left school for work. After spending what felt like half the morning waiting in this throng, the doors opened and the queue wound its unruly way inside, past the pay box, via the ticket collector, who had to have eyes in the back of his head, the arms of an octopus to avoid gatecrashers and the strength of a bull to stem the tide.

Once through the barriers it was every kid for himself as we fought for the front seats — and then it was battle stations before the show started.

We shouted, screamed, and ran up and down the aisles and everyone faced a barrage of projectiles — apple cores, fruit in varied states and missiles fired from penny blow tubes.

It was always a riot until the proprietor or his teenage son Derek established some sort of peace before physically cranking open the fire safety curtain in front of the screen.

His action brought on a screeching crescendo of cheers, as the performance got under way.

First was the Gaumont or Pathe News, never well-received unless they were packed with an abundance of action; speeches and boring scenic views were out and would start the launch of missiles once more, but marches and soldiers on manoeuvres was acceptable.

We knew that the next item would be the cartoons. How we loved them. Our Gang, Laurel and Hardy — we would sing or whistle to their ‘cuckoo’ signature tune — Old Mother Riley, Charlie Chase and Buster Keaton were also well received.

At the interval the ice cream lady, illuminated by a spotlight near the stage, needed a cane to keep the more exuberant of us at bay, though another delicacy enjoyed by some was to bring a pre-opened tin of Nestles condensed milk, which was enjoyed by many friends, dipping their fingers into the sweet contents.

The second half of the show was the weekly installment of the cliff hanger, always to be continued next week — and at the conclusion we would all shove our way out into the glare of the day.

Rain or shine, I always took my raincoat with me and buttoned it like a cape.

Leaping out of the Star, I galloped along the side of the building, down the back lane, under the railway bridge, belting my rump with my hand as I raced along, on a white stallion, speeding across hills, dales and deserts, This world of mine, for just a short time at least, was my oyster and I could champion a dozen causes, courtesy of the Tuppenny rush.