THE director of a Glasgow theatre once stood at the front door as the matinee crowd poured in, took a lungful of air, and announced appreciatively:

"Ah the smell of urine on flannel."

He was referring to the school trips which brought enthusiastic pupils to the theatre's pantomime. His theatre might have a reputation for avante-garde productions but it was the pantomime that gave the premises a regular income in the winter, and introduced younger people to the idea of theatre-going.

In a world where electronics and computers are engrossing children daily, it seems a strange throwback that the pantomime, seemingly an old-fashioned form of entertainment, still holds sway across Scotland and across generations.

But as Paul Maloney, who researched the history of pantomime at Glasgow University, once explained: "It is now the only example of the annual 'big theatre' experience which appeals to all ages and generations. Its appeal lies in its familiarity - the ritual of going every year, often to the same theatre as your parents, and seeing favourite performers, a well-known story, and all the familiar gags and routines. It feels like it should be out of time, but in fact is vigorously contemporary in its range."

Award-winning actor David Haymen put on the harrowing play about growing up in Glasgow, Six and a Tanner, at Glasgow's Barlinnie Jail and asked the captive audience if they had been to live theatre before. A hand slowly went up and a chap asked: "Does the Krankies count?"

Before television came along, it was a lot easier to please audiences. Glasgow writer and raconteur Jack House once explained that out-of-work actors would congregate at the corner of Sauchiehall Street and Renfield Street in Glasgow, which was dubbed "Poverty corner", to meet kindred spirits and hear about available work. Panto producer JA Cox, said Jack, would turn up at the corner and within minutes book a principal boy, principal girl, comic, feed and speciality act. He'd put them on a bus and en route to whichever town hall was booked, the performers would work out what pantomime they were doing that night, decide on the routine and songs and pick up costumes on the way.

It's a bit more sophisticated these days. As Iain Gordon, who runs Glasgow's Pavilion, which is showing Pinocchio just now, says, the technology has changed, with more light shows, lasers and LED displays. "They see it on the X Factor and they expect it," he explains.

Ah but the jokes, the old old jokes. When the King's Theatre in Edinburgh received a telegram from the Queen for its 100th anniversary, a theatre-goer commented that Andy Gray's jokes in that year's pantomime, Cinderella, should similarly be honoured. "I just think a joke is a joke," says Iain Gordon. "If it's funny it doesn't matter how old it is."

Very true. Half a century later, a reader tells us he still remembers Rikki Fulton as the dame turning to Larry Marshall in the Glasgow King's panto and saying his feet were killing him, and that he suffered from sciatica. "How can you have sciatica in yer feet?" asked Larry.

"Well these shoes are size six, an' see ah take a seven."

Rikki was of course a panto legend, along with Jack Milroy, Johnny Beattie and Jimmy Logan. But they were brought up in music hall, and knew their stagecraft. Now Scottish pantomimes have to recruit from television where performers might not actually have ever appeared before a live audience. "I've even had to tell one such performer to face the front when telling a joke. It seems ridiculous, but you have to do it," says Gordon. The Pavilion has nurtured Stephen Purdon from River City in its last seven pantomimes and he is now a consummate theatre entertainer. The SECC has pantomime stalwarts The Krankies in Dick McWhittington who have built up a genuine rapport with television star John Barrowman with them on stage. Janette Tough (below) of the Krankies, dressed as a schoolboy, is still being thrown around the stage by hubby Ian like a rag doll, even though she's in her late 60s. She might look innocent but the night I was there she told a joke about a dancer having Christmas and Happy New Year tattooed on her thighs that I couldn't repeat here. Fortunately it sailed well over the kids' heads.

Gordon says that there are distinct Scottish pantomimes which emphasise audience participation and traditions rather than many pantomimes south of the Border which are often just vehicles for a star performer. Singing and dancing competitions as one half of the theatre take on the other half, with grannies happily struggling to their feet? No problem in Scotland. The late lamented Gerard Kelly at the King's as Aladdin asked the audience of course if he should trust the baddie, and the whole theatre shouted back: "No!" Later when Aladdin is locked in a cave, the silence was broken by a lone Glasgow voice shouting: "Well, we telt ye!"

And panto dames of course. My favourite panto dame story is the tale from Dean Park, Gepetto in the Pavilion's Pinocchio this year, who made his first dame appearance in Inverness in the 1980s. He was sitting in the dressing room with full make-up, huge fake boobs and tights on when his parents came to see him. His father, of traditional West of Scotland stock, still dubious about his son's stage career, took in the scene and asked Dean: "Is this what it's come to, son?"

While the pantos are still in full swing, bookings are already being taken for next year at the Pavilion even though what show it is has not been decided. "The audience trusts us," says Iain Gordon. "This year we have a 99-year-old gentleman seeing his 40th panto. He'll be here next year at the age of 100."

So no matter how old-fashioned the pantos might appear to be, there is no sign that we will have to tell anyone anytime soon that they're behind you.