Curtains of Smoke: Remembering The Futurist and the Enduring Drama of Cuban Cigars
There was a time when Scarborough didn’t just face the sea — it faced the future. And nowhere was that more vivid than in the sweeping white curve of The Futurist Theatre. Built in 1921, standing proudly along Foreshore Road, it wasn’t just another seaside stage. It was Scarborough’s promise to itself: that glamour and culture belonged just as much here on Yorkshire’s edge as they did in London or New York. I was young when I first stepped through its doors. The carpet was a bit threadbare by then, the lights slightly dimmed from their glory days, but it still had that smell — aged wood, brass polish, and the faint trace of old cigarette smoke clinging to velvet. A proper theatre. A place for voices and stories. The sort of place where a lad could feel he’d stepped into something grand. Years later, I’d find myself stood on that same promenade, only now in silence. The theatre gone, the dust still settling. In one hand, a Cuban cigar — slowly drawn, smoke rising like ghosts. --- Theatr...