Sheila Spencer

Heroism and tragedy – not what I expected to uncover when I happened to look through the church visitor book in St. Johns Church, Silverdale, and noticed an entry referring to the war memorial to Maurice Briggs (situated on the wall of the North nave) made by a Raymond Haffner, who had written how he had known Maurice Briggs as a boy in Cliviger in Holme, and explained that he had been best man to his brother George. He invited contact should anyone want to find out more about him.

My interest was captured! I had seen the memorial and often wondered who Maurice Briggs was and how he came to be killed in Canada two days after VE day. This was the spur that I needed and I discovered that not only Maurice, but also his older brother Gilbert had both died tragically in air accidents, one before the start of the war and one at the very end. Maurice Briggs was born in Todmorden, West Yorkshire, on 6th May 1920, and his brother, Henry Gilbert Stewart Briggs in 1916. Whilst their father was headmaster at Todmorden Grammar School, the two brothers attended school in Burnley.

In the 1920’s the family moved to Cliviger in Holme, and then in 1936 to Silverdale, taking up residence at ‘Glenroyd’ on Cove Road, now the home of the Bodenham family, but at that time owned by Richard George Lambert. Maurice and Gilbert owned a dark green Bentley car at the time, which some of the older Silverdale residents may well remember.

Maurice Briggs driving the family’s green Bentley

The brothers joined the RAF before the start of the war. Tragically on 9th January 1939, at the age of 22, Gilbert Briggs who was training to be a navigator and based at Prestwick, was killed along with his three fellow crew members whilst engaged in a Cross Country Navigation Exercise, when their Avro Anson plane crashed into the Coserine mountain at Rhinns of Kells, 9 miles West of Dalry, Kirkcudbrightshire. The weather at the time was very poor with freezing temperatures. He was given a military funeral and is buried in Silverdale churchyard.

Maurice, who had joined the RAF in 1937 at the age of 17, was at the start of hostilities in 1939, posted to 77 Squadron as an air gunner/observer based at Driffield. He completed his first tour with distinction and in September 1940 was awarded the Distinguished Flying Medal to recognise his valour, courage and devotion to duty whilst flying in active operations against the enemy. In November 1941 he received his commission and in October 1942 he was promoted to Flying Officer. In April 1942 he began initial pilot training at Torquay, which he completed in Calgary, Canada and was awarded his pilot wings on 2nd April 1943.

In April 1943 the 1409 Meteorological Flight (part of the Pathfinder Unit) had been formed and equipped with DeHavilland Mosquito aircraft which were unarmed, light and amazingly fast. The primary function of 1409 Met Flight was to ascertain weather conditions, the consequences of which could mean cancellation of an operation for the whole scheduled bomber force. Prior to this many aircrews had been killed by bad weather, icing of the plane being particularly dangerous. The pilots and navigators of this new unit were all specially selected and described as ‘young in years but old in flying experience’.

They together with their aircraft stood ready to take off at a moment’s notice, flying when other aircraft of Bomber Command were grounded due to the weather conditions. They faced extreme danger, not only from the weather but also having to proceed alone, deep into enemy territory, in unarmed aircraft, often in broad daylight with no cloud cover.

In November 1943 on his return to England, Maurice was promoted to Flight Lieutenant and posted to this unit, completing well over a hundred sorties, most of them with a John Custance Baker, his navigator. In an official report the two men were described as a perfect team, whose flights were often eventful and dangerous, and who delivered factual and accurate reports. On one occasion for example, in January 1944, Maurice had to ditch their plane in the Channel after they had flown through flak over the Ruhr, had a fire in the cockpit – and finally an engine failure.

It was in this period that Maurice earned the DFC and DSO – the Distinguished Flying Cross in October 1944 for great determination and exceptional meteorological ability in bringing back accurate data, and the Distinguished Service Order in March 1945. In the official citation it stated, ‘that he had never allowed the heaviest enemy opposition or adverse weather deter him from completing his allotted task and in consequence of his undoubted courage and determination he invariably obtained excellent results. His reliability and devotion to duty have been of the utmost value to his unit.’

Maurice flew his last sortie of the war in December 1944, and over the next few months, together with John Baker, made several trips to Canada to transport Mosquitos from the De Havilland plant in Ontario to England. At the beginning of May 1945 on account of their excellent team work the two men were selected to take a Mosquito to Canada as part of the Victory War Bond Drive. The plane known as F for Freddie was famous in its own right, having flown at least 213 combat operations, which was the highest record for any Allied bomber in WWII. They arrived in Calgary on 9th May, three days after Maurice had celebrated his 25th birthday, and the day after VE day. Hundreds turned out to greet their arrival and were thrilled by a spectacular air display put on by Maurice in a celebration to mark the end of the European war. The crowds flocked to the airport to see the famous plane and meet its crew, many taking the opportunity to buy a bond and chalk their name on the plane.

Unbelievably and tragically 24 hours later Maurice Briggs and John Baker would be dead, and the remains of F for Freddie scattered across the aerodrome.

The following day at 4pm, scheduled to fly the plane to other air bases, Maurice taxied the plane down the runway. Before departing he once again put on a display for the benefit of the spectators who had gathered, making two successful low level passes over the airfield. Tragically on a final daring pass the wing of his aircraft clipped a metal pole above the control tower causing it to crash in a field a third of a mile from the terminal building, where it exploded into flames. The two men, although thrown clear from the wreckage were both killed instantly.

Two days later, Maurice Briggs and John Baker, escorted by an honour guard of 100 airmen, their coffins draped with the union jack and adorned simply with their hats and a single rose, passed through streets lined with hundreds of shocked and saddened mourners, on their way from a church which had been filled to overflowing to the cemetery. After a full military funeral they were buried side by side, in the Field of Honour in Burnsland Cemetery, Calgary.

The funeral procession marching through the streets of Calgary. The shock at the tragic circumstances of their deaths was felt by many. One of their old commanders wrote how their deaths had upset him more than any that he had come across in the war. The Lancaster Guardian reported how the death of Maurice ‘had cast a gloom over Silverdale’, and The Globe and Mail newspaper of Toronto -‘that a deep sense of personal loss was felt by thousands. These two young men were all we always thought the ideal fliers should be, modest and pleasant. They were the pride of a proud command.  Maurice Briggs had flown the amazing number of 145 flights and John Baker 115. It was men like Maurice Briggs and John Baker who helped to save the worlds freedom.’

We should also spare a thought for Mrs Margaret Stewart Briggs who, having been widowed shortly after the tragic death of her eldest son, must have believed with the greatest of relief that her remaining son had managed to survive the war. We cannot begin to imagine her grief and devastation upon receiving the tragic news of Maurice’s death coming so soon after VE day. Mrs Briggs continued to live alone at Glenroyd. In 1947 the house was converted into two flats, with Mrs Briggs living on the top floor and Richard Lambert and his family living on the ground floor. In 1959 she moved into Maryland care home in the village, and died in Lancaster Royal Infirmary on 1st October 1959.

More information about the tragic accident alongside other photographs of Maurice Briggs and his co pilots.

First published in Mourholme Magazine Issue 75 Spring 2019

Clive Holden

Recent advertisements for film shows at the Civic Hall in Carnforth made me think about the ‘good old days’ of the ‘Roxy’ cinema, which was Carnforth’s chief centre for indoor entertainment for many years. Not that the ‘Roxy’ was the first cinema in Carnforth; that honour belonged to the ‘Victoria Picture Palace’. I do not know when the Victoria Picture Palace showed its first film, but I have in my possession (kindly given to me many years ago by Bert Simister) an advertisement on a hardboard backing for the films on show in the week ending November 1st 1913.

On Monday October 27th and the two following nights the films were ‘Her Just Reward’, ‘A Soul’s Awakening’ and ‘Whiffle’s Fascinating Eye’. ‘Her Just Reward’ was the ‘big picture’ as we used to call them, and a summary of the plot was attached, whereas the two supporting films were described merely as ‘An Indian Drama’ and ‘Comic’ respectively. From Thursday to Saturday the films were ‘A Fair Saint’ (a Coloured Drama in which a miracle intervenes to ensure mercy), ‘King Lear’ (Drama) and ‘Two Tiny Pickles’ (Comic). Doors opened at 7.30 p.m. and the show commenced at 7.45 p.m. Admission costs were 3d and 6d, and a reserved seat cost 1/-. Every Saturday there was a matinee at 2.30pm for children (admission 1d); adults paid the normal admission fee. Saturday evenings were special as there were two performances commencing at 7p.m. and 9p.m., so we know that each programme must have lasted about two hours.

‘So, where was the Victoria Picture Palace?’ you may ask. The advertisement tells us that the cinema was in New Street, and the proprietor was W. Hoyle. We know that Alfred Hoyle was the manager of the Station Hotel from 1900 until at least 1913 (possibly much longer), so it seems likely that the Victoria Picture Palace was on the first floor in the ball room, and that the entrance was from the New Street side of the building and then up a staircase. On the reverse side of the hardboard is attached the printing order from William J. Weeks (‘Late Morecambe Visitor’), dated October 24th 1913 for 30 posters for the picture show; total cost 5s 6d. W. J. Weeks (newsagent, printer and tobacconist) was based at 38 MarketStreet. It had previously belonged to the Morecambe Visitor Co. Ltd. Little more is known about the Victoria Picture Palace, and nobody is left alive to remember it. Did it survive throughout the war until the early 1920s?

If it did, it had a new rival just across the way. The ‘Lancaster Guardian’ for 31st December 2004 included an article about the Pearson architects of Lancaster, and showed a drawing of The Picture House, Carnforth, designed in 1921 by Charles B. Pearson (1875 – 1944). The drawing shows the words ‘The Picture House’ on the façade of the building, but whether it ever carried that name is open to conjecture. What we do know from the ‘Lancaster Guardian’ is that the aforementioned W. J. Weeks, managed ‘The Kinema’, as it was known, for a number of years, and retired at the end of 1928 to be succeeded by Mr. H. W. Pearson of Oldham. In the ‘Lancaster, Morecambe and Suburban Directory for 1934’ it was listed as: ‘The Kinema Theatre (Carnforth) Ltd.’

By then it was managed by James J. Brennan, and it became part of his cinema circuit. What we do know from photographic evidence is that it became ‘The Kinema’ or, as in the ‘Lancaster, Morecambe and Suburban Directory for 1934’: ‘The Kinema Theatre (Carnforth) Ltd.’ Brennan had cinemas in several towns in the area, including Kendal. The Westmorland Gazette for 27th February 1937 advertised films at ‘The Kinema’ on Sandes Avenue, Kendal but in the edition for March 6th the advertisement was for the ‘Roxy’ (late Kinema), along with two other cinemas in Kendal, the recently acquired Palladium (also on Sandes Avenue) and St. George’s. Simultaneously reduced admission prices were advertised: at the ‘Roxy’ these were to be 6d and 9d in the Stalls and 1/- in the Circle. (but 1/3d on Saturdays and at holidays); and 3d, 4d and 5d for children (applicable from 8th March). It would seem reasonable to suppose that the Carnforth ‘Kinema’ changed its name to the ‘Roxy’ at the same time, and it may bethat the pricing policy was similar.

At the Kendal ‘Roxy’ the programme was changed only once in the week: Monday to Wednesday and Thursday to Saturday, though there was an instance of Monday and Tuesday, followed by Wednesday to Saturday. At Carnforth Kinema, at least until 1929, the same programming system prevailed, but by the 1940s films were shown for two nights only before the programme was changed, though there were exceptions when films of such length and quality as ‘Gone With The Wind’ might be shown for three or four evenings. According to one source of information the Carnforth ‘Roxy’ had seats for 780 people (hard to believe!) later reduced to 465 (a more credible figure); the proscenium was twenty one feet wide. At least one ‘Roxy’ is known to have survived: that at Ulverston.

My first visits to the Carnforth ‘Roxy’ would be early in the Second World War and would probably have been to the Saturday ‘matinee’ performances (in the afternoon, not the morning), which featured such luminaries as Old Mother Riley, Laurel and Hardy, Roy Rogers and Hopalong Cassidy, to mention a few. Some years later I made a list of the films I remembered seeing (but lacking specific dates), such as ‘Mrs.Miniver’, ‘The Black Swan’, the Sherlock Holmes films with Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce, and those featuring my favourite actress at the time, the sultry Maria Montez, who starred in glorious technicolour ‘Arabian Nights’ type films, described by film critics as ‘hokum’.

At some time in 1951 I decided to take a more methodical approach, and listed all the films I saw, along with the main actors and the dates when seen, and this continued until the closure of the Roxy at the end of April 1961. According to my diary the last film to be shown there was ‘The Magnificent Seven’, (friends of mine, Mick Webster and David Howorth both agree on that). David Howorth, now resident in Canada, adds that the poster advertising that film remained in situ for a long time afterwardsThe snag is that 30th April 1961 was a Sunday, and films were not shown at the Roxy on Sundays, unless an exception was made for that special occasion.

The usual routine at Carnforth’s ‘Roxy’ was for advertisements to be shown while the audience was settling down, accompanied by songs on (presumably) gramophone records. Two well- remembered records were ‘Red sails in the sunset’ and ‘Long ago and far away’. The adverts were followed by the ‘little’ picture (if there was one), then the Universal News (not the ‘Pathé’ as in many cinemas), and then the ‘big’ picture. The ‘first house’ started at 6p.m. and the ‘second house’ at 8p.m., though there must have been exceptions such as when ‘The Big Country’, a film lasting 163 minutes, was shown. If the film was a very popular one and all ‘first house’ seats were taken, you would have to queue into Hunter Street next to the advertising hoardings which were there at the time, and wait patiently until the ‘first house’ came out, not that everyone had to come out; those who had arrived late for the ‘first house’ or merely wanted to see the film through again were at liberty to do so. There were occasions when the waiting crowd had a little entertainment, such as when Tommy Fisher, a railway guard and a Cumbrian, celebrated his team’s victory at Wembley by placing his bait box in the middle of the road and demonstrating how so-and-so had kicked the winning goal; result: one bait box and his bait all over the road! I suppose that seats at the ‘Roxy’ could be reserved, though I never bothered to do so.

On rare occasions, especially during the war years, there might be problems in the projection room and the film would suddenly drone to a halt. If a repair was not made speedily there would be a cry from one of the more impatient youths in the audience of “Put a penny in the gas!”. The films shown at the Roxy were classified as ‘U’, ‘A’ and (much later) ‘X’ (horror). Children had to be accompanied by an adult in order to gain entrance for an ‘A’ film, so it was not unusual to wait outside until an obliging gent (usually) agreed to take one in to sit next to him, but once the ‘first house’ was finished you could move to a seat of your own choice. Sometimes my sister would accompany my brother and me, and would force us to cower behind the seats in front if she thought that we might be scared by the next sequence, allowing us to sit comfortably again once the sequence was over. Only once do I remember a ‘serial’ which went on for several episodes being shown at the Roxy; that would be in the early 1950s and was, if my memory is correct, about a jungle maiden who survived what seemed to be certain death in every episode. My not so infallible memory tells me that prices of entrance to the Roxy rose from about 9d to 1s 3d downstairs and from about a shilling to two shillings upstairs; no doubt I will be corrected. Throughout the last twenty years at least of the Roxy’s existence the manager was Mr. Moss, a small dapper gentleman. The ticket office was usually manned (or should it be ‘womanned’) by two ladies from whom Mars Bars, Crunchies etc. could be purchased. Of the staff, which must have seen several changes, I remember Danny Townson from Millhead in the projection room, Hilda Stevenson and Jenny Higgins in the ticket office, and Annie Wren (neé Goodman) and ?Ingleby as usherettes. How many can our readers remember?

As for the layout, in the downstairs part of the Roxy there was a central aisle only, with equal numbers of seats to each side, and exits as indicated. There would be one extra row at the left hand side as the exit passage was to the right. There were probably about sixteen rows of seats to the left and fifteen to the right with about ten seats per row (someone will doubtless correct me). As was normal at cinemas the last performance ended with the National Anthem, and there were always some who rushed to make their way out before it started. Once it started you were expected to stand still until it had finished.

Upstairs, which I visited not very often, the rows of seats were shorter on the left hand side due to the limitations imposed by the staircase at that side, though the aisle would still be in line with that in the downstairs section, and there were fewer rows of seats as the upstairs section, which was on a steeper rake, extended no further forward than the front of the projection room. There was an exit door at the front right hand side of the upstairs section leading to an external metal staircase; does anyone remember it being used? Normal egress was by the internal staircase. The seats upstairs may have been slightly more ‘posh’ than those downstairs, though I found them all quite comfortable, and only once do I remember some refurbishment of the seats downstairs.

It has been suggested that the Roxy, as a relatively small provincial cinema, may have been a ‘bug hut’. Nothing of the kind! After the Saturday afternoon ‘matinees’ it may have needed a spray of D.D.T. or whatever, but the worst I ever got from it was after an evening film show when I discovered that a previous occupant of my seat had kindly left some recently chewed bubble-gum on it, which adhered itself to the seat of my trousers. I was not amused. It may also have been supposed by some that the ‘Roxy’ would receive more than its share of ancient and inferior films. True, some old films were shown, but they were usually of reasonable quality, and while not first in the queue for the latest films as cinemas like the Odeons would be, the ‘Roxy’ was not too far behind. In 1959, for instance, most of the films until September had been released in 1958, but 1959 films then began to appear.

In common with most other cinemas, as more people began to buy television sets, so the audiences at the Roxy gradually dwindled, although the best films could still draw them in. By 1961 the writing was on the wall, And for many of us it was with much regret, that the end of ‘The Magnificent Seven’ was also the end of the ‘Roxy’. Any additional relevant information will be welcomed, whether it be the naming of staff, correction of errors in this article, orsimply your memories of the ‘Roxy’.