The trouble with having one of the country’s main wrestling venues at the end of the road you went to school in was that it was difficult to appreciate what a stroke of luck it was. Now, over 40 years later, the detailed memories have faded but the impressions remain so vividly treasured.
The Granada Cinema Tooting was an imposing landmark of construction built in 1931 and which stood on Mitcham Road between the Edward VII statue and Mr Jones the opticians. Dad’s optician. Mr Jones used to park his green Bentley right on the Mitcham Road, 20 yards from the cinema, you could do that in those days. Every walk to school or tube, every trip to Saturday morning pictures, every premiere of the great films of the day, like Goldfinger or Planet of the Apes, required a little deviation up the marvellous marble Granada steps, the gently inviting slope of which made little feet climb higher and higher, peering into and no doubt grubbifying the side windows that housed appetizing trailer shots of forthcoming events.
And there was always an easel atop those carefully crafted steps. With a spectacular upcoming wrestling bill attached to it. I am ashamed to admit, the names then seemed somehow of a second level due to the wrestlers not appearing on tv, and therefore not being household names. Mum didn’t know them. But nobody made or makes a wrestling poster like Paul Lincoln Promotions.
The full length, or should that be full width, picture of the Wild Man of Borneo seemingly coming down those very marble steps from his easel to claim errant passers by, who had dared to gaze upon his countenance, was a powerful image indeed.
Further shame, and Mum can’t be blamed this time. The ring was set on the stage, so there was no 4-way viewing as always seemed the case on tv. Once again, this somehow made the venue second rate. What awful judgment at the time! Later, when visiting wrestling venues had become the norm, all kinds of set ups became visible and acceptable, and the White Rock Pavilion in Hastings could in that respect be compared very closely with Tooting.
But the plush red carpet and overhanging circle, dripping with icicle-like golden ornateness, made this an amphitheatre all its own, fit for the best battles, and the spectacular six-bout bills lasted till well after eleven o’clock.
Wrestling peaked at the Granada in about 1967 as we were treated to the tv stars at last, McManus, Pallo and Kellett mixing it with Doctor Death, Judo Al Hayes and even a mysterious visitor from Japan called Kendo Nagasaki, though nobody could pronounce the name as there had been no Kent Walton precedent to inform us.
Time passes and people move away. The venue became a bingo hall and wrestling stopped. In the same restrained way that nobody tampered with the green Bentley, nobody, not even at night, unpinned the posters from the easel, and so no souvenirs have stayed to this day.
Who cares! The memories of bumps and bodysweat cannot be consigned to paper alone.
Wrestling Heritage 