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Broken film was painstakingly sorted and mended. (I collected tiny
frames from films I had loved, eg. Seabiscuit, the true story of the
undersized Depression-era racehorse whose victories lifted not
only the spirits of the team behind it but also those of their nation.)
Non-repaired damage incurred hefty fines, the loss of the
franchise, or an angry tirade from the next user. These were minor
problems in the scale of things at the time.
At that time, film was highly flammable. On 12 September 1944,
the Kumara Town Hall (left) burned down. Westland Talkies’
film gear, including generator, projector and sound gear, being
there overnight for the biweekly showing, was lost at great expense
to Westland Talkies. But they recovered and, with great
improvisation skills, set up again in an empty building nearby.
Nothing of a serious nature ever happened when miners were at
leisure with families, but not to be treated lightly were some of the
filmgoers who arrived at the pictures somewhat inebriated.
Generally this did not lead to much. There could be occasional
Kumara Town Hall , destroyed by fire in 1944
fights and other drunken behaviour to contend with outside and,
for a time, one group of boys decided to play pranks on the boozers who stashed their beer outside ready for “half time” as the intermission was
called. At first they hid the beer, and enjoyed the fuss that followed. When this became boring, they experimented with putting things like salt or
sugar in the bottles of beer and put the caps on again. Then they hid and watched, and sniggered. That all ended the day the beer fizzed out all over
them, as in a chemistry experiment gone wrong. The local policeman, Constable Pretty or Constable Billborough, I forget which, had a quiet word
with them, and they gave up that game.
Alf, Stan and Fred were charismatic men, to whom moviegoers
responded well. Little went wrong in dealing with the public. Alf
was quiet but mischievous and a storyteller, Fred was outgoing,
lovable, and fun, and Stan was quiet, warm, and responsive. They
were always good to us kids, a wonderful group of buddies,
connected both by friendship and marriage. They were popular
with the communities where they worked, and with other car
enthusiasts, including Jim Benson and my father, Cliff Moffitt,
both owners of prized Buicks.
Wallsend, what was left of it, was a film centre! Formerly a
sizeable township, it was waning by the time of the photo at left.
Cliff Moffitt and Rene's sister, Molly Nairn, were married in a
church on a back road here, just visible on the left in this photo.
There were several churches elsewhere in Brunner, but Stillwater
had none at all. Wallsend Hall, the picture venue, is out of the
picture, off to the right. Everything needed for the evening had to
be carried up from the road, and then upstairs inside the building.

There were boisterous filmgoers who made attendance
memorable. Lads called out smart remarks which cracked up the
audience. If it continued, they were told to “SHUSH” and peace
was regained. Some, though, could not restrain themselves, even
when forbidden to speak, especially if one of the women had
shone a torch at them, thus identifying them. Then their empty
bottles would rattle anonymously and happily, or unhappily as the
case may be, across the wooden floor. This became a tradition,
especially if the movie became too “soppy” for the lads. Boredom
often caused amusement too. Eventually, others got into the act.
Had they been less expensive, there would have been far more
Jaffas all over the floor after the film ended. A cheer would go up
at the rattle as they were bowled along the wooden floors. It never
failed. It still happens, if only through the comment, “Where are
the Jaffas?”
Looking across the Taylorville swing footbridge. Wallsend is on the far side.

If things became too bad, the only real option was to stop the film. That was effective. The nuisances were shamed into behaving or leaving the
picture theatre.

Exciting action pictures were best, in the view of the girls, because they kept the likely lads in their seats. Quiet, respectful lads were far more
successful at making friends, and in getting to sit beside the girls. Well, that is inside the theatre in a mining district. Mining communities were
very family minded. Good girls DID NOT GO OUTSIDE during a dance or picture. This was a very unpopular rule, but clever. Who was going
to brand herself by going outside? The community was a sound one, with many eyes. When the girls did move to different seats, the adults knew
to shine their torches on the original seats and on the males sitting near them to discover potential troublemakers.

Mining communities are often portrayed as rough ones. Taylorville, much larger than Wallsend, and across the mighty Grey River, did have such
a reputation, but it was largely undeserved in a modern sense. Mining men, in my experience, were invariably kind and caring, especially to
children. The Brunner miners even insisted, as part of their demands, that there be a free doctor for the whole of the Brunner District, which

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