David Rodgers and Sylvester Stallone

Many people will remember David Rodgers from his time with TSW and as host of Treasure Hunt (appearing alongside Cornish comedian, Jethro).
For about 25 years, I've had this 7x5 colour photo of David with Sylvester Stallone. I haven't a clue where it came from or where it was taken or what the occassion was. I've recently been sorting through many old photos and had forgotten all about this one.
If David reads my blog (and I doubt he does!), I'll happily post it onto him if he wants it.

Rare photo : St Budeaux's oldest cottage

The rare photo section of this blog will probably get updated quite regularly as I have many photos that won't have been seen anywhere else. The latest one comes from the Western Morning News and Daily Gazette of Friday 30th April 1937 and it shows St Budeaux's, then, oldest cottage.

The caption reads: 'Three hundred years old, Commons Cottage, in Vicarage Road, St Budeaux, Plymouth, is threatened with demolition for road widening. It ha been occupied by the Westlake family for 200 years and the present occupier, Mr John Westlake, aged 74, has lived there since his birth.'

More rare photos soon.

Rare Photo : Plymouth Hoe

Every week, I plan to post a rare photo on this site which you won't have seen anywhere else. Most come from old editions of newspapers that I've collected together. It seems a shame that many of these photos will never see the light of day again unless someone posts them on the net, so here goes!
This week's photo shows the ornate gate, now long gone, at the top of Lockyer Street where it joins Plymouth Hoe.

This picture comes from the Western Morning News and Daily Gazette of Friday 2nd October 1936.

The caption reads: 'The present entrance to Plymouth Hoe at the top of Lockyer Street, where Mr J J Beckerlegge, President of Plymouth Institution, last night suggested a wrought-iron gateway should be erected bearing the inscription 'Plymouth Sound, Gateway to the World.'

Plymouth's First Talkies

It's hard to imagine a time when people went to the cinema to watch a film that had no soundtrack, included subtitles and was, often, accompanied by music from a pianist.
Asked which was the first talking film to be shown in Plymouth and many people would probably say that it had to be The Jazz Singer, starring Al Jolson in 1927, which included the classic line 'You ain't heard nothing yet!'
However, the first talkie that was shown in Plymouth was called 'The Singing Fool' and it played during August 1929 .
The Western Morning News of the 8th of July 1929 carried the story:

'TALKIES FOR PLYMOUTH

Kinema enthusiasts in Plymouth will shortly have an opportunity of seeing and hearing the talkies.

The Western Morning News in officially informed that the Savoy Picture House is being wired for the new films and that during August, the first talkie film to be shown in Plymouth will be presented.'

The talkies didn't please all and the first film to be shown in Plymouth was soon reviewed in the Western Morning News of 15th August 1929:

'THE TALKIE COMES WEST

One cannot doubt after hearing the 'talkies' that they have come to stay. Despite a certain harshness and, of course, the slow drawl of the American voice, they have a dramatic force unattainable in the silent film.
This is simply illustrated in 'The Singing Fool' showing at the Savoy, Plymouth this week. Sonny Boy, the child on who the story hinges, lies seriously ill in hospital. His mother, by the bedside, suddenly observes a doctor and a nurse draw a sheet over his face. Piercing the quietude of the kinema comes the agonized scream of the distraught mother. This is a melodramatic illustration but it explains the wide difference between the silent and the talking film. The 'talkie' is a new and totally different form of entertainment, demanding the concentration of other senses. No longer can we affect a languid interest in the screen, for music and speech will soon dispel any drowsiness. Critics must remember that the 'talkie' is in its infancy and naturally will improve every year. It is to be hoped, at the same time, that our friends in America will eliminate their pronounced drawl from the films sent over here and that British enterprise will rapidly afford us opportunities of hearing our own artistes and music.'

The Singing Fool, like The Jazz Singer, also starred Al Jolson. It featured the song 'Sonny Boy' which was the first recording to sell a million copies.
The Savoy announced another talkie on its theatre posters which was due to show the next week following The Singing Fool. Entitled 'The Doctor's Secret', Vide Press called it 'the best talkie yet'. A long-forgotten film, it is thought that no copies still exist.
Many people were enthralled by the new medium. However, not everybody was pleased about the new talkies. Hatty Baker, a resident of Pomphlett, wrote a letter to the Western Morning News which was published on 30th August 1929. It read:

'Much has been written, more spoken, about the nerve-racking noise of the present day. Now, noise has invaded the silent film. The talkies are all very well in their way - a very noisy, somewhat chaotic and metallic way - but to women like myself who went at times to a kinema for rest and quiet, they are disappointing in the extreme.
When the talkie started and the noise banged out from a kind of box contraption (I do not know what it is called), the contrast after the human performers was painful in the extreme. The twang of the speech might, perhaps, be endured, though one hardly goes to an entertainment for that, in spite of one woman's remark : 'I enjoyed it so much; I cried all the time!', some people having curious ideas on enjoyment, but the metallic bang, bang of the box-band was hideous.
I returned with a headache, saying never again to the talkies.
Am I alone in such critisism? Are there not others who would like to see at least one good silent film with accompaniment?
All things pass and when this age of noise and turmoli passes, the talkie will surely (we hope and trust) will pass also.'

Hatty, like many, couldn't have predicted the future. Silent films were on their way out and in a very short time, every film would be accompanied by a soundtrack. The age of the silent film seems to come from a different world from nowadays where we are bombarded with sound from televisions, ipods, computers, radios and of course, incredible stereo sound systems in every cinema.

The Toll Gate, Halfpenny Bridge, Stonehouse

A while ago, I was kindly given a series of books called 'Days in Devonport' written by Gerald W. Barker in 1984. Inside one of them is a story told by Marjorie Claxton of an experience crossing Halfpenny Bridge many years ago in 1913. It's a lovely story and I thought that I would reproduce it here so more people can read it:

I remember Devonport, Stonehouse and Plymouth when they were three separate boroughs each thriving independently in their own particular way.
It was a pleasant walk from Devonport to Plymouth via Stonehouse. Transport was mainly by trams, which ran from the terminus in Fore Street, Devonport, down Chapel Street, stopping at Cumberland Gardens to pick up passengers, then on along past the Raglan Barracks on the left and Mt Wise on the right then down over the hill past the Brickfields, crossing Kings Road and on over the Stonehouse Bridge, through the toll gate commonly known as the Halfpenny Gate. Here, one was in Stonehouse where the trams stopped in Edgcumbe Street to pick up folk. The route continued through Union Street passing several theatres and cinemas such as the Grand, the Palace, the Savoy and the Gaiety and on to Derry's Clock, the Plymouth terminus. I remember the fascination of watching the conductor changing the trolley arm over onto the other overhead wire for the return journey. If the conductor happened to be short, this task would be tricky, as the arm was heavy and would swing and spark until it eventually clicked on the wire.

Underneath the Halfpenny Gate bridge was Stonehouse Creek, and at high tide, the stream reached as far as the Military Hospital. Boys from High Street had fine fun challenging one another to ride the logs. These huge logs, chained together, belonged to Fox Elliot the timber merchants and were towed up the creek by boat and left there to season. On the other side of the bridge, underneath it, were several boathouses approached from the Richmond Walk side of Kings Road. My uncle and aunt had a motor boat and used to take me with them on trips to Barn Pool, Cawsand and sometimes to picnic on the Breakwater. I learned to row a boat on Stonehouse Creek, mainly because my boy cousins used to tease me and I wanted to do as well as they.
I remember vividly the day I went to visit my aunt and uncle in Stonehouse. Being a lovely summer day, I felt quite important at being allowed to go alone at eight years of age. My home was at the Mt Wise end of George Street, Devonport, so I walked up through the beautiful Mt Wise Avenue, stopping for a few minutes to watch the naval officers playing cricket, then turned right past the ramparts and the New Cut leading to Richmond Walk, then down over the hill across Kings Road and to the toll gate. On production of a halfpenny, I was allowed through the turnstiles having been issued with a return ticket.
It so happened that my folks were going to visit friends so after about an hour, having had some lemonade and biscuits, I made my way back up over the bridge to the toll gate. Putting my hand in my pocket for my ticket, I was horrified to find that I'd lost it, and as the lady in charge was not the same one that I saw before, she would not let me go through. Strangely enough, the only other people around seemed to pass by in the tram or on bikes or horses and carts, so I was forced to turn back. However, I had an idea and went back, down by the brewery to the slip, hoping that I might see someone in the boathouses, or even find a boat there in which case I could row across, but alas, no people about and no boat. Then I knew the only way I could get home was a long way around, so I went along High Street, along by the Naval Hospital wall, which seemed endless, and turned up into Eldad Hill, to make my own way to Millbridge. Then the bottom simply dropped out of my world, for there at the bottom of the hill facing me was another toll gate. This was just too much. I was panic stricken whereon the floodgates burst and I remember saying, 'Whatever shall I do?' between my sobs. Then a kindly voice said, 'What's the matter? Why are you crying like this?'. Looking up, I had a blurred vision of a young soldier, who dried my tears as I had lost my handkerchief. He had a lovely face, so I blurted out my tale of woe, then he caught hold of my hand, escorted me through the gate and after asking where I lived and if I knew my way home, he gave me a penny and went on his way. I thanked him and ran through Fellows Place, up over Stoke Church Hill and past the Military Hospital. Then I came to a narrow road running between the Albion football ground and the Devonport South Western Station yard and the railway. There had recently been talk of a murder there, so being not only tired, but terrified, I took to my heels as if the very devil himself was after me. Out through the Rectory across Kings Road, on up over the Brickfields, down through Mt Wise Avenue and eventually home.
More tears were shed then from sheer exhaustion and relief being safely back with my mother. I remember the look of sheer amazement on her face, as she held me close while I poured out my story. Softly, she told me that she hoped that I had learned to be more careful as I had lost my handkerchief as well as my ticket. When I gave her the penny, she handed it back to me telling me to keep it as it was dated 1905, the year I was born.
Several years later, I went to join a friendly society, and remember the surprise I had when the gentleman who opened the door, took my name and address, then said, 'Aren't you the young lady who lost her toll gate ticket?'.
Then I remembered his face and after the meeting, he escorted me home, met my mother, and became a close friend of the family. His young friend later became my dear husband for thirty years, during which time my children always knew my soldier friend as uncle. Both soldier and husband have passed on but I remember a lifetime of happiness and friendship brought about by the loss of a halfpenny toll gate ticket. By the way, I still have that 1905 penny!

Tommy the Elephant

In May 1871, Plymouth was visited by the then Duke of Edinburgh, Prince Alfred Ernest Albert. He had been on a world cruise and arrived in Plymouth Sound on the 19th May of that year. With him he brought a baby elephant which he named Tommy.
The crew of the ship marched down Fore Street in Devonport with Tommy at their head and this is probably the only photo of him that still remains. No-one knows what became of Tommy but perhaps he ended up in one of England's many zoos.
The Prince went on to become Vice-Admiral, Channel Squadron, Commander-in-Chief, Devonport in 1890 and later became Admiral of the Fleet.

Bronze Age finds at Warleigh

I regularly take my dog for a walk at Warleigh Woods, near to Tamerton Foliot village, and for several months, there have been lorries travelling back and forth as a solar farm is created nearby.
Apparently the work has now stopped because finds from the Bronze Age have been discovered during all the digging work.
Tamerton Foliot and the Warleigh Estate are steeped in history and also have connections with the Romans.
Many years ago, local historian, Marshall Ware, told me that his interest in history began when he was given a greenstone neolithic axe in 1910 by Mr H Montagu-Evans. Similar axes were found in the 1960s near to the Brown and Sharpe factory site. Marshall's axe was excavated in 1898 by a team of soldiers, headed by a Captain Mullens, by Ernesettle Woods, which pointed to it being one of the earliest settlements in the area.
It will be interesting to discover exactly what has been found at Warleigh and there must be many more relics and much more history that lays yet undiscovered.