IT'S now a rather anonymous building, occupied by a specialist glass company. But though the old structure seldom merits a second glance these days, as the one-time Parrvillion Cinema it created a major sensation when opening its doors to welcome the birth of the 'talkies'.

The date was September 1911 and all the excitement of that opening performance is captured within a contemporary newspaper clipping, preserved by retired clerk of works James O'Connor, whose father, John, was a long-serving cinema projectionist.

The movie reviewer of that pre-First World War era, had waxed lyrically about the occasion, writing: "Parr came in droves to its own picture-house yesterday to see and hear the inauguration of talking pictures over the British Talking Pictures apparatus. The result was a triumph ...

"From all parts of the house the sound comes over beautifully, reaching every corner. After yesterday's perfect presentation I should say that, with the cream of talking pictures coming, the accommodation of the Parrvillion will be heavily taxed."

The curtain-raising feature film, a magical treat for patrons who had previously only experienced silent movies, was Mother's Boy, a sentimental all-talking and singing picture starring Morton Downey, famous Irish tenor of his day. The plot followed a theme still familiar in modern day musicals -the trials and tribulations of an entertainer determined to gain fame.

But the glitter and glamour did not last. The Parrvillion, set in the heart of Fingerpost shopping zone, on the corner of Jackson Street, eventually descended to the level of a fleapit. By then nicknamed the Parr Dog, it finally staggered out of existence in June 1958 - just 47 years after that grand celebration opening. One of James's most indelible memories from the Parr Dog's declining years is of hot, sticky summer nights when the cinema fireman, a Mr McCormick strode around the aisles with a brass cylinder and spray strapped to his back. "He'd then douse us with a steady stream of disinfectant which not only cooled us down a bit, but no doubt kept any bugs at bay."

James's dad was a career projectionist who worked not only at the Parrvillion but also at a string of other St Helens cinemas during the golden age of the silver screen. Among them, the Oxford, Hippodrome, Scala and Rivoli, all of which have either been demolished or, like the Parrvillion, converted for other uses.

John's projection-room career was rudely interrupted by wartime service with the Royal Navy, but he returned in 1947 to work at the Queens Cinema, Hindley. Recognised as an extremely conscientious employee, totally dedicated to the screening of movies, he was known to trudge the ten miles or so from Hindley to St Helens whenever public transport became halted by fog, snow or any other causes.

With the steep decline in movie-going, accelerated by the television age, and by the closure of so many picture palaces, John was forced to give up the job he loved, becoming a gardener with a glass company. Forced to retire early because of ill health, he died in 1972 while still in his sixties.

Son James, from Ainsworth Road, St Helens, has among his souvenirs a group photograph showing his father, decades ago, among the final line-up of employees at the Rivoli which once saw queues wrapped all around the block to see such blockbusters of their day as The Jolson Story. But that, as they say, is another story...