IN the early 1950s, I went to the Saturday morning matinees at our local Odeon cinema.

The films were always preceded by a rousing song that began: “We come along on Saturday mornings, greeting everyone with a smile.”

I certainly did, because along the way my pocket money would stretch to buying what seemed like a gigantic Mars bar.

I don’t care what the presentday manufacturers say, I contend Mars bars were far bigger back then and certainly more solid.

On the way home I’d buy a I’d miniature Hovis loaf at the bakers or some liquorice wood from the chemist.

The picture shows would take place in absolute pandemonium as the young audience cheered Gene Autry and Roy Rogers or screamed at the villains.

The streets afterwards, would be full of boys running and slapping their bottoms, in lieu of a horse, or with their macs doubling as capes if the serial that week had been Batman.

I became a member of the Odeon matinee club and every birthday they’d send me a complimentary ticket for the cinema.

Somehow they traced me on my 18th birthday to an RAF station on the Isle of Lewis where, sadly, I was unable to use it for one last time.

VJ Connor, Bishop Auckland.