The Palace, which was of Shaftesbury Avenue but not in it, had, in the days of Edward, achieved its true destiny. It was a place apart. Under Charles Morton it had ceased to be an unsuccessful Opera House, and had become a great house of Variety.

Right - Palace Theatre Auditorium 2004. M.L.

That veteran with the golden touch transformed its fortunes, as he had done at so many places. He it was who made it great. For the Palace was not a theatre, and it was not a music hall. It was exactly as it described itself - A Theatre of Varieties. The difference was subtle but distinct. Variety held the stage, but there was no trace of the roaring choruses, the noisy bonhomie of the ordinary music hall. Here white shirts and silk dresses filled the boxes, the stalls, and the dress circle. Here the carriages set down, and 'took up' at eleven. But although women, with their escorts of course, occupied many of the seats, it preserved a masculine atmosphere, as befitted a theatre of varieties. The air was blue with the smoke of good cigars. Champagne and whisky were the drinks in the bars - it even had a cigar bar at the back of the stalls, where good cigars were sold - for the Palace patrons knew a cigar and did not want inferior brands.

There was, under the staircase leading from the stalls to the lounge, a bar where champagne was the drink supplied, to the exclusion of all else.

Right - The stalls bar, recently restored to its former glory in 2004. M.L.

And the real, regular Palace patrons liked a Rover Ticket, which cost five shillings, but which took you wherever you daned to go, but did not entitle you to a seat. As most of the habitues dropped into the building as they dropped into their club, would watch a special act or so, and then have recourse to the bar, seats did not bother them.

 

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