Came the dawn : memories of a film pioneer (1951)

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unrobing so as to get into the 'ball-room' quickly, for if you did not get your programme filled up early, you were lost. The McGuffie girls had each allotted me two dances before we left their home, and were most assiduous in finding me partners for all the others, whose names I jotted in if I could hear them correctly, otherwise the colour of their dresses. I learned that two dances was the maximum allowance for any one girl — it was considered 'significant' if that number were exceeded. It was a very pleasant and happy little affair. The dancers in that village were not of the village girl and hobbledehoy class but mostly the neighbours and friends of the people I was staying with, quiet, moderately cultured, very happy and not at all noisy. Afterwards at their home I found that they still retained a curious old-fashioned custom which rather surprised me; they always dressed for dinner in the evening. I admit I came to scoff but remained to praise, and when I was married and my wife came South with me we brought the quaint old Northern custom with us and kept it up. I believe that it did help me to retain what little sanity I have in spite of the disturbing worries of film-making. If you can force yourself to shut down your business sharp at six o'clock, go home and throw off your working clothes and shed your worries with them (and that is what it really feels like), put on a boiled shirt and a smiling face, and meet a nicely dressed and happy wife, you need never give your troublesome work another thought until tomorrow morning. We were married at Buxton on February nth, 1902. There was a heavy snowstorm the day before and I hurriedly cancelled the carriages and ordered sledges instead. It was taking chances on tomorrow's weather but luckily it played up to me and both protagonists and guests all enjoyed the novel experience. It even earned me my first bit of publicity in a London paper. If they had known I was a film man I shouldn't have had it, so differently were we regarded all that time ago. Nowadays it would be 'Film Producer Weds Country Girl in Snow,' or something of that sort. Incidentally, why do people in newspapers always 'wed,' never 'marry'? All the remaining three of that happy little family married within a few months of that time and that happy house was emptied. I have never seen it since, and now, all but one of those people are dead. And shortly after the time of my marriage, A. D. Thomas, 'Thomas-Edison,' played his last few tricks and 60