Places and Spaces

From the very beginning, Merseyside Unity wasn’t tied to a theatre or a building — and, initially, that was the point. In fact, when they celebrated their 21st birthday with Working Majority, they proudly pointed out that they’d performed pretty much anywhere you can imagine: a platform, a meeting room, a lawn, a cart-top, even a street corner. Rather than waiting for audiences to come to them, Unity took theatre to where people already were.

Of course, they also used more traditional venues for bigger shows, regularly appearing at the David Lewis Theatre, St George’s Concert Room, the Neptune Theatre, and later the Everyman. During the war, they performed in factory canteens and garrison theatres, including Fort Crosby. These unusual settings sometimes created unexpected — and memorable — moments: The Good Person of Setzuan played out alongside the grand Greek statues in St George’s Concert Hall, while The Great Money Trick unfolded in front of a ruched satin curtain.

During the war years, Unity took a big step towards creating a space of their own. They moved into the first floor of a crumbling Georgian house on Mount Pleasant, transforming it — with a lot of hard work from members (including Eric Heffer) — into a small but lively theatre. With donated tip-up seats, a modest 12-by-9-foot stage, and space for around 70 seated (plus another 20 standing), it quickly became a hub. Over time they added dressing rooms, a workshop, and even a refreshment room.

This wasn’t just a theatre — it became a real community space. Saturday nights turned into a “Unity habit” with weekly performances, while Sundays brought lectures, play-readings, and performance anthologies. There were films, socials, and plenty of tea.

The space was described as a “left centre”, somewhere people could gather informally after meetings in other places. It even doubled as a meeting place for other groups and at one point, dockers used it as a strike base.

But it wasn’t all plain sailing. Over time, concerns grew that having their own venue risked cutting them off from the wider Labour movement, and by 1959 things had reached a tipping point. With audiences shrinking and debts rising, Unity made the difficult decision to give up the space and return to their more nomadic roots.

Still, the idea of a permanent home never quite went away. Unity continued to campaign for an Arts Centre for the city, linking up with initiatives like Sam Wanamaker’s New Shakespeare Club in 1957 at the Pigalle Theatre. They later welcomed the opening of the Everyman in 1964, performing there regularly until it closed for redevelopment in the mid-1970s.

By the late 1970s, a new opportunity emerged: a building on Hope Place, once a synagogue and later a photographer’s studio. After years of searching, Unity finally had a place to call home again. They opened the Unity Theatre in June 1980 with a two-week festival — a fitting celebration for a company that had spent decades turning all kinds of places into spaces for theatre.

What began as a small group of 12 enthusiasts in early 1937 grew to over 70 active members by 1939. They were from all walks of life – teachers, dockers, activists, electricians, carpenters, clerks and unemployed – but together they became a collective, working towards an important political purpose through their performances. To foster greater unity and cooperation among its members, the club arranged more frequent social activities which included organising dances and regular Sunday rambles on the Wirral from early 1938.