The Angel with Green Eyes

THE Palace was an old style cinema, not exactly a flea-pit like the City Picture House in William Street, but pretty run-down all the same.

- Hugh Gallagher

Nevertheless I liked the atmosphere there and the still photographs in silver frames outside.

These scenes came from the films showing inside and almost every day I stopped to see if there were any new ones.

This Friday night, however, I was a naïve nineteen year old on a mission.

I made my way down Shipquay Street, after a long walk from Creggan.

For the last ten minutes of the journey it had been raining steadily, a soft drizzle which was running off my glasses and down my face.

I stopped beside Philips record store and wiped my specs with my white hanky.

There was nothing I hated more than going into a place and not being able to see people clearly.

“Are ye going in?” a voice I recognised suddenly asked.

It was Eamon Devine.

Beside him stood John Deeney in his teddy-boy gear; winkle-pickers (slightly damp); drainpipe trousers and black leather jacket. His shirt was a crazy mix of colours. He glared at me as he swept his steel comb through his greasy black hair. I was about to speak but he cut me off.

“Midnight matinees not for you then, Matt. Too scary, eh. Your ma not let you go!” he laughed.

I replaced my glasses and ignored him although I squirmed at the thought of what was going through his head.

I moved back up the street and pretended to look in the windows of other shops.

“One of these days, Eamon, I’m going to give that square an awful thumping,” were the last words I heard him say as they disappeared into the cinema.

Midnight matinees were not a new craze in Derry but they were being revived and were an economic success if not trouble-free.

My father was in the local Lourdes Committee and tonight the owner of The Palace was donating the full proceeds from the showing to send sick people to Lourdes in France. I had been ‘volunteered’ to work as an usher for the evening.