Robert Simms, now aged seventy-three, lives in deserved retirement in rural Fylde, on the picturesque banks of the River Wyre, at Little Eccleston.

Robert, who was nurtured in the Watson Road area of Blackpool, is a very lively character who displays a sharp "Sandgrown" sense of humour and who retains fond memories of his time as a Fylde cinema projectionist during the dark days of World War Two.

In 1939, at the tender age of fourteen, the young seasider became a page boy at the Palladium, routinely tearing tickets, polishing brass and serving sweets, cigarettes and ice creams from a tray, at a time when it was considered unseemly for female usherettes to perform this duty. About two years later he moved on to the Tivoli to become a trainee projectionist, or third operator, embarking upon what was to be an interesting, if somewhat poorly remunerated, career.

In 1943, Robert became a second operator and was then rapidly promoted again, within just one month to the lofty position of chief operator. As he was little more than seventeen years old at the time, this made him not only the youngest chief in Lancashire, but with some months short of satisfying the minimum age requirement. To circumvent the law, The Tivoli employed Jack Russell Fern, the locally based science fiction writer, as a projection room boss. Jack had been a projectionist during the silent era, but was now hopelessly out of touch with the far more complex modern equipment. Despite the fact that the precocious Robert could ably teach him everything he supposedly needed to know, the eccentric author, who was also a member of the Magic Circle, stayed quite aloof from the technical side of his job, preferring instead to regularly entertain the staff with his astonishing feats of prestidigitation.

Scheduled hours of work at the "Tiv" were arduous to say the least. A typical day would begin at ten in the morning and finish around midnight. Moreover, if an air raid was in progress, the staff could be sometimes forced to spend an entire night in the building. Few people today are aware that Blackpool, during this wartime period, was the largest military training centre in the world. American airmen were stationed at nearby Warton, and Robert clearly remembers their almost nightly brawls with British troops in all of the resorts town centre drinking establishments, with The Manchester Hotel being the worst of all these flashpoints.

Robert also recalls seeing low flying German aircraft passing regularly along the Fylde coast to bomb Liverpool. As incredible as it may seem, Blackpool Tower was the safest site in the area due to the fact that the Luftwaffe used the famous landmark to gauge the precise co-ordinates for their deadly aerial assaults on Lancashire’s principal seaport. From the vantagepoint of Fairhaven Lake, one could see the night sky all aglow as most of Merseyside tragically went up in flames. As one might expect, the task of fire watching was considered to be of primary importance, however, it does come as a surprise to learn that this was one of the duties that regularly befell Robert. Apparently, the job of the cinema projectionist was deemed to be a "reserved occupation." After all, the cinema was no longer simply a venue for entertainment, but had a crucial role to play in the dissemination of information, including the showing of numerous training films for armed forces personnel and what observers would label as propaganda movies. Robert, for instance, showed the film, "One of Our Aircraft is Missing." So many times, that he claims he could repeat every line of dialogue verbatim. As previously stated, part of the projectionist’s job specification was fire watching and for concluding a shift Robert would receive the paltry sum of five shillings. Following one particular stint, he allowed himself to be locked up all night in Tussaud’s Chamber of Horrors, in order to win a bet. He was boldly successful with regard to this wager, but one wonders how many people today would endure such a trial for a mere ten packet of Wills "Star" cigarettes.

The financial situation had improved little, even by the end of the war. During the period 1945-46, Robert was earning only five pounds for working a six-day week and it was this factor which prompted him to leave the world of moving pictures and seek employment elsewhere. He subsequently worked for six years on the "Golden Mile" as a self confessed "spiv", and then completed a further thirty two years, which were equally divided between Blackpool Corporation’s Cleansing Department and Burton’s Biscuits, before finally retreating to the peace and tranquillity of his rustic habitat, about a decade ago.

Looking back on all the movies that he has seen, Robert has no hesitation in declaring Northwest Passage, which starred Spencer Tracy, as his all-time favourite picture. In truth, he is hardly likely to ever forget it for the simple reason that he was once made to go and collect all fourteen reels of this film from St Annes cinema and farcically struggle back into Blackpool on a bus, carrying two excruciatingly heavy bags. The said reels each contained nine hundred feet of film, but this footage only amounted to ten minutes of viewing time. This once created a huge logistical problem for both the Tivoli and the King Edward, when they jointly featured Gone with the Wind. Due to overwhelming demand there was only one spare copy of the film available, so the two picture houses had to agree on a chronologically varied set of performances which would enable a motorcycle courier to steadily transfer the Selznick epic one reel at a time through the busy thoroughfares, from Clifton Street to Central Drive. This critical and potentially disastrous errand had to be repeated an unnerving twenty four times in order to achieve just one showing each of the film.

Today Robert has a video cassette copy of Gone With the Wind and many more old favourites, but rarely bothers to visit the cinema as he finds contemporary films far to gratuitous in their portrayal of sex and violence. It would appear he is much happier cosily viewing the sheer diversity of satellite television. You could, I suppose, accuse him of being a big screen deserter, but quite frankly, I don’t really think he’d give a damn.