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12 How Films Began
Do you hear a faint echo of tlie word " talkies " drifting back tnrough the ages ?
But although he had gone so far, nobody else would get any farther. Unbelievable though it seems to-day, nobody could then see the commercial possibilities of this invention. Certainly the War Office did go so far as to ask him to go for a whole day to the Isle of Wight to conduct experiments with this new camera, for which he was paid the munificent sum of five guineas. The first report contained the momentous statement that the new invention " might be useful for balloon photography in wartime." Shades of 1914-1918 !
My father had spent no less than £10,000 of his own money on experiments. What was worse, he had neglected his previously prosperous photographer's business to further his invention. In February, 1891, his home and practically everything else he had were sold to pay off his debts. Even this failed to quash his enthusiasm. He knew that he had a marvellous invention and he was anxious for the world to realize its possibilities.
Colour on films was the next thing to which he set his active brain. As far back as 1903, when I was onl}^ a child of five, he had perfected a colour scheme of cinematography. He took a picture of me in our garden at Brighton. I was waving a Union Jack (it was just after the Boer War) and the red, white and blue came out remarkably distinctly.
I have always felt that his true worth has never been thoroughly appreciated. One possibly does not expect the general pubHc to appreciate his work, but those men in the industry, to whom my father's invention has meant so much, might have been keener to have praised where praise was due. Don't imagine for one moment that I am ungrateful, but I do feel that a little more might have been done. In 1916, for instance, when I was with the Cinematograph Branch of the Royal Flying Corps, my father's resources were so low that a public subscription was opened. The sum of £136 OS. 2d. was raised.
Five years later he died, at the age of 65, after making a moving speech, lull of sincerity and sound commonsense, to a group of film renters, exhibitors and producers. British films were in a sad state at that time. Wrangling and differences of opinion only accentuated the plight of the industry. My father endeavoured to get these people to see the folly of wrangfing. He tried to make them realize that co-operation was the only thing to prevent America getting the whole of the film monopoly. He altered the tone of that meeting and then went back to his seat and died.
Two policemen took him to the nearest mortuary. In his pocket was a cheap, well-worn leather purse. Inside were a few coins that came to the grand total of one shilling and tenpence — all the money he had in the world.
One and tenpence — ^just enough to buy a seat at the pictures.