A LUMP still comes to the throat of Audrey Skidmore whenever she passes the sad hulk of a building that once gloried under the name of the Curzon Luxury Cinema. It's where Audrey worked as one of its first usherettes, and her memories of it are precious.

Unable to beat off the challenges of television, bingo and the rivalling club and cinema attractions of larger neighbouring towns, this Earlestown 'people's palace' of a cinema, first opened in 1935, put up shutters some years ago.

There had been attempts to breathe new life by converting it into a bingo hall and a snooker centre. But now, the Curzon appears to have finally given up the ghost.

"I don't know whether I am the only survivor from among those early usherettes", says Audrey (maiden name Randle when working there). She's now 89, and living in Davies Avenue, Newton-le-Willows.

Audrey was inspired to pen her thoughts after reading an earlier piece on this page in which Mike Gannon of Cross Lane, Newton, kindly provided much interesting detail about the Curzon's history.

Audrey had worked many years ago in the Grand Circle, for a weekly wage of just under £1, along with cinema manager Fred Harrison's daughter Emma.

Others in the usherette team included Mary Casey and Marion Felstead. "I think they have all passed on now, leaving just me with my memories", she reflects rather sadly.

The Curzon also presented stage shows. Says Audrey: "I spoke to and got a kiss from Donald Peers". He was a top-line singing broadcaster some decades ago.

One of the cinema regulars was Doctor J. Gaughan, a keen fan of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.

"He never missed any of their films", says Audrey, who was one of his patients, "and it was my job to put a reserved ticket on his favourite seat in the Grand Circle twice a week".

She also has fond recollections of the other Earlestown cinema existing then, just short walking distance from the Curzon. This was the Pavilion Picturedrome, always referred to locally as the Rink and standing in Market Street opposite the town hall.

"Before the Curzon was built, my brother and I used to go to the Rink, where Fred Harrison was manager", says Audrey who wonders if any other mature townsfolk can recall Fred's gentle sense of humour as he voiced an oft-repeated announcement to customers as they entered.

It went something like this: 'This way, ladies and gentlemen. All places guaranteed to have chocolates on the seats'.

Suggesting that it might go some way to keeping kids off street corners and out of mischief, Audrey signs off: "Please bring back those happy times at the cinema".

SADLY, from the look of the Curzon now, it is likely to prove a plea in vain.