So posh I thought was the Plaza, I made sure I scrubbed behind my ear-lugs before venturing to that plush, posh, luxury cinema in Peel House Lane. As a teenager, working in Warrington, my old boss Cyril would on most rare occasions treat me to lunch. Off wed trot, not to a cafe, but to the cinema. Can you imagine that, a cinema with an actual restaurant. Now in our house you could have the choice of a fork, spoon, or knife: not two of them, and obviously not all three. But in the restaurant at the Ritz at Bridgefoot, you got the lot, all placed nicely on tables with white tableclothes. I was a bit confused, as the fork was on the left side of the plate. I always held the fork in my right hand, as I needed the left hand to pick up the chips. At night, the Ritz was all lit up in beautiful neon lighting, such a magical place. It was even visited by movie stars, promoting latest films, people like Laurel & Hardy (pictured here at the Ritz). Like many of these 1930s art-deco palaces of dreams, the Ritz eventually closed. It eventually emerged as a nightspot, Mr Smiths. Now there are plans to demolish the building, though there is a campaign in Warrington to save it. Just like in Widnes, the old cinemas of Warrington closed, one-by-one. Now we have wide-screen televisions, with surround sound we will never see again the likes of the old picture houses with their huge auditoriums. On the opposite side of Bridgefoot, they are pulling down another place of dreams, the old Wilderspool Stadium, famous homes of the Wires. I spent many terrifying hours in there as well, reporting on matches. I thought, then, all those years ago that when I grew up Id never be a sports reporter. And I never have been.
Posted on: Sun, 24 Aug 2014 08:04:50 +0000
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