There they all were, wallowing in the sort of luxury only the film people could lay on. It was the still-talked-about 21st birthday party of Pinewood Studios, which, if it had been filmed, would have been dismissed out of hand as too far-fetched.
For My Friend Harry, it had all started when he had a phone call from an old friend, Cecil Sidney-Wilmot, manager of the Odeon cinema, Newcastle upon Tyne. Over a gin-and-tonic, Cecil said that Lord Rank, his All Highest, had decreed that 21 key Odeon theatres would run contests to find 21 beautiful girls - all aged 21 - to represent their regions at Pinewood’s birthday party. Five-star hotel accommodation in London, first-class rail travel, etc., etc.
As My Friend Harry had something of a reputation for organising beauty contests, his Queen of the Sun annual competition attracting 5,000 girls from all over the north of England and the final presenting 150 girls on the stage at the City Hall, Cecil would be grateful for any co-operation. “You’d qualify for a ticket to the party, too,” he added as a final persuader. “Five-star hotel, all travel expenses.”
So, with the co-operation of the Editor of the Evening Chronicle, Harry launched the competition. It was a terrific success, especially as Harry had tossed in free tickets for two to the Odeon for a year for all competitors. The City Hall’s 3,000 seats were sold out weeks in advance for the final and the Lord Mayor presented the awards on stage. The winner, just to add the final touch, was a village girl who’d never been farther south than Sunderland. Terrific.
A little later, Cecil had another meeting with Harry. “I’ve found out that most managers are thinking of making a birthday present to Lord Rank, something representative of their areas,” he said. “Any ideas?"
“How about a lump of coal?” suggested Harry.
“Please,” said Cecil. “No jokes. This is serious.”
Harry had an idea. He rang up a friend who worked for the Coal Board in the North East. Press relations were his responsibility. “Jim," he said, “got any spare miners’ lamps. The old, oil ones?"
“Scores of them. We make the new apprentices polish them up as a sort of introductory task." “Could you spare one? It’s for the Newcastle Odeon manager to give to Lord Rank at Pinewood Studio’s 21st birthday party. Free tickets to the Odeon for you and your wife for a year."
“You’re on," said Jim-so Harry drove out to the colliery, collected a lamp and handed it over to the delighted Cecil.
**********
AT 10 o’clock on a sunny morning, Harry and two other party guests were collected at the Waldorf Hotel and driven in state in a hired Roller to Pinewood Studios. At the end of the long drive, a silk-canopied reception area had been set up where Lord and Lady Rank were greeting their guests. Beauteous starlets hovered just beyond with trays bearing glasses of champers; handsome young contract stars - including Stanley Baker and Tony Wright - were there to lead the guests to the lunch marquee. The atmosphere was one of unbounded wealth and gracious living. Harry lapped it all up-as well as the champers.
The lunch marquee was gigantic and accommodated scores of circular tables, each seating six guests. The linen was snowy, the flowers were abundant, fresh and fragrant. Each table was headed by a Rank film director, Harry having the pleasure of sitting next to the renowned Roy Baker. All rose to receive Lord Rank and his party at the top table, and then 200 fortunate souls tucked in to the multi-course lunch with wines for each course. Conversation filled the air, laughter made the glasses tinkle and all was happiness and gaiety.
The port and liqueurs came round and then the cigars and cigarettes and bon bons. Contentedly sipping and puffing and stretching their legs, the guests beamed with alcoholic indulgence as the scarlet - coated Toastmaster banged his gavel and prayed for silence for the Chairman of the Rank Organisation, the Lord Rank.
Thunderous applause as the Chairman rose to his feet. Modestly he waved down the reception and launched forth. Thirty minutes later, he was still launching forth, and the smiles of the guests were becoming a little fixed. Still, it had been a splendid meal and it was a notable occasion and the port was still circulating and ...
The Toastmaster banged again. “Pray silence," he called, “for Mr John Davies, Chief Executive of the Rank Organisation.”
Silghtly less rapturous applause for the lantern-jawed John. He pounded their ears for another 30 minutes, statistics, profit figures, projected expansions, diversifications and acquisitions pouring forth in an unstoppable monotone. He sat down to a spatter of applause from those nearest the top table.
Up leapt the Toastmaster. This time, the silence he prayed for was for the Rank supremo in North America. Another cascade of indigestible figures, proposals, extrapolations. Near silence when he eventually sank back into his seat. Then the European master mind and the Australasian master mind and the South African master mind and the Lord knew what other master minds had their moments of glory.
It was then that the venerable and much-loved A. E. Matthews, star of films unlimited, rose a little unsteadily to his feet at the far end of the marquee and made his extremely cautious way through the tables, waving to a friend here and there, exchanging a word or two with remembered colleagues and beaming happily upon one and all.
At the top table, he reached over and picked up the microphone in front of the Lord Rank. Then, turning his back on the exalted, he boomed out to the rest of the assembly: “Don't they realise I haven’t much longer to live?”
The applause was explosive, prolonged and heartfelt.
The next day, the Evening Chronicle ran a Page 1 picture of Miss Newcastle presenting a miner’s lamp to the Lord Rank as the gift from the region. All hell broke loose at the instantly - convened meeting of the local branch of the National Union of Mineworkers. What the hell was that capitalist bastard doing with a treasured possession of the mineworkers?
Harry’s friend Jim was already consulting the Situations Vacant advertisements, so Harry agreed to take Cecil Sidney-Wilmot along with him to meet the NUM branch. They did so in an upstairs room at the nearest pub. Three pints had been downed all round, when Cecil solved the problem. Free Odeon seats for all committee members and their wives for two years was the offer. Closing time came with The Blaydon Races ringing out in chorus, arms around shoulders, a couple of bottles apiece of Newcastle Brown Ale in their pockets and vows of eternal friendship being exchanged.
Harry reckoned it was an even better do than the Pinewood shindig.
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