WARD'S WORLD: Inventor and Spalding Today columnist John Ward says an old film brought back memories ...
Recently I sat down of an evening hoping to get some form of light television entertainment via the aerial thing on the roof but not being too enthralled about cleaning sewers, cooking or riding on trains etc, being the high point of watching the supposed entertainment and education thing we assume is television, as in the FSW - flat screen wonder - so a DVD was the answer.
In my early years I worked full-time in a cinema, two of them in fact, now both sadly gone.
But while some people assumed it was a ‘dream job’ (I had often heard it called that), I did wonder at times how these people must have slept if this was their idea of a ‘dream job’.
Being a projectionist meant we did the maintenance, electrical and mechanical, plus changed the reels of film and rewound them in those days (very different today of course) from perhaps four or five reels upwards. And don’t ask about ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ which went into double figures, so I didn’t really see a complete film from start to finish during the average working day or evening.
As I had never seen the late Doris Day starring in the film ‘Calamity Jane’ - one of her big film hits of the 1950s - from start to finish, I had bought the DVD version some time ago to watch, so what better time than now with the television schedules looking rather bland or my interest as outlined above did not fit in amid all the channels spouting the usual slot fillers.
During my cinema days although ‘Calamity Jane’ was old, as it was made in the 1950s, it still made a lot of money around the world up to the 1960s. It was perhaps the third or fourth ‘run’ when we showed it over three days, but despite this we still did very good business with it as ‘feel good’ films always seem to then.
It was the Thursday matinee performance that I came across a real fan of sorts. The other patrons had left after it ended, but as I looked to see if the place was clear, one little lady still sat in her seat in the stalls. Wondering if there was a problem I wandered down to her.
She had heard me coming and looked up with a grin and said: ‘I just love seeing Doris Day but mostly this film, as I like it when she sings ‘Secret Love’ with that swooshey sounding music half way through’. In fact it’s the string section she was referring to and the song also won an Oscar at the time.
Then she said ‘Frank would have loved to have seen it as well as he liked films with happy endings’. To which I asked was he at work, this being an afternoon. The reply was he was ‘not about but he would have loved it I know’.
I pointed out that she really ought to be going as we were about to clear up (in reality a quick ‘all hands out with a broom and dustpan’ to clean up any rubbish left on the floor etc, although it was usually minimal after a matinee as those audiences were usually pretty well behaved, discounting school kids that is) to get the auditorium ready for that evening’s show when Doris would be strutting her stuff once again.
So up she rose, walked away towards the main doors and to possibly get hers and Frank’s tea ready perhaps.
Saturday came and so the matinee performance once again and who should be there but possibly Doris’s biggest fan - in the same seat as she had sat in on the Thursday prior, so as well as a fan, she was also well organised.
The end of the show the same little lady was still sitting and staring at the now silent stage with tabs (stage curtains) closed As I approached I knew she would tell me about how she loved Doris singing ‘Secret Love’ but while that happened again, I also met or heard about her husband Frank as she opened her handbag and brought out a letter.
She explained she would have loved to have brought Frank to see ‘her Doris’. She asked me to read the letter as perhaps I would understand. It was the first - and hopefully the last - such letter I had read. It was from his army company commanding officer, all nicely hand-written but within the first few lines were those dreaded or feared words: Dear Mrs So-and-so.. It is with deep regret I write to inform you that your husband Frank..’ but I think you can guess the rest.
I read it through and it had the hairs on the back of neck standing up. This was an odd feeling I must admit, but basically it amounted to all the years she had shared with her husband was now totalled up in one sheet of hand-written paper - and the fact she would not be seeing him ever again walk through their front door.
Having never seen anything like it before - or since - it was rather amazing that his commanding officer had taken the time to personally write to her in his own hand to explain the situation that Frank, together with others of his comrades, had found themselves in that had proved to be fatal.
With Doris Day and her co-star Howard Keel, with the rest of the cast, bringing so much joy to so many people not only there, but to countless millions around the world, as they still do to this day, the harsh reality of the ‘real world’ rather crashed down having read that letter she had kept all those years.
She then apologised for ‘wasting my time’ and I would soon forget the ramblings of an old lady who found some happiness in seeing ‘her Doris’ on the big screen - she never remarried as she held out in hope that it was ‘some mistake’ and Frank would come back one day but after (then) 20 years or so, she had remarkable faith in that possibly happening but as somebody once said: ‘It costs nothing to dream or hope’.
She always attended matinee performances as she did not like walking out at nights in the dark, something she still did from the last war even then, but its now more years than I care to remember when this encounter took place but I do however obviously remember her even now but it’s all down to a certain Doris Day.
