Unity Theatre

Zelda and friends at Unity Theatre, London 1942




left-my father, second from right, in a play at Unity theatre, London

right - a young Bill Rowbotham, later Bill Owen of Last of the Summer wine fame, on stage at Unity Theatre


An anti-fascist sketch at Unity Theatre


I was unhappy and frustrated when I returned to London leaving all my friends in Taunton. Dad sensed it and came up with a solution to my problems. He pointed out an advert in the New Statesman publicising an audition for actors for Unity Theatre.
Unity was a left-wing theatre, supported by trade unions, the Co-operative movement and many communists. One of its aims was "to strive for socialism" and the hope was through drama to inspire people to work for the betterment of society, and specifically, at that particular time, to move them to demand the opening of a second front to take pressure off the Russian front.
Much has been written about Unity Theatre, and perhaps the definitive work is the one written by Colin Chambers. But nothing I have read has ever quite caught the atmosphere of the theatre or the spirit of the people working in it.
Let me try to describe how it was for me. To be able to combine the activities I enjoyed most, acting and discussing ideas, with political action, made my time at Unity Theatre a most exciting and satisfying experience. I greeted each day as an adventure and I was eager to grasp everything the theatre offered.
It gave me the opportunity to gain a working knowledge of every aspect of theatre: acting, directing, stage management, lighting, scene painting, props and make-up. Sometimes I worked behind the bar, sometimes I sold programmes, and took turns at the Box office.
Unity was my whole life. It gave me a political education and a means of expressing my ideas. It gave me friends and lovers and a whole new way of life. How extraordinarily lucky I was. It broadened my outlook and expanded my mind. But it was also a humbling experience. I soon realised the futility of my dreams of becoming an actress.
My first introduction to the theatre was the audition at the rehearsal rooms in Newport Street. I had no idea what to expect and I was rather fearful. I was greeted by Bernard Sarron and Ruby Bendas. Theatricality oozed from their every pore. Bernard was short, pale-faced and wore thick-lensed glasses. His rather large head seemed t sit awkwardly on his body and he had a strange gait. I found out later that it was due to his having had some toes amputated because of diabetes. He was homosexual, very "camp" and delightfully, sarcastically witty. Bernard, who was an art director at Pathe Pictures, had won much acclaim for his performance as the Dame in "Babes in the Wood", a political pantomime that had been popular with Unity audiences. Ruby was a tall, impreious looking woman, dressed elegantly and expensively. Her most impressive feature was her large hooked nose, which I felt gave her character, and I was really upset in later years to see that she had undergone surgery to straighten and shorten it. She did not look half so handsome. She worked for J. Arthur Rank and her office was in the odeon, Leicester Square, where she entertained me with cups of coffee during our friendship.
They handed me the script of a short sketch and I had to read the part of an old woman of the Edith Evans type. To my amazement I was one of four chosen from the largeish group of hopefuls. I was to be in the Outside show group, an adjunct of Unity theatre, and we would perform in factory canteens for the workers, at camps for the Forces, or in local halls around London for the various communities. We performed anything, anywhere we were wanted: sometimes cabaret, sometimes one act plays or musicals that we devised, or often we just performed individually. Alfie Bass and Bill Rowbotham (later Owen), had mime acts. Alfie mimed a boxing match and Bill did a woman undressing to get in her bath. But the all-time favourite with audiences was Bill doing his song "You too can have a body like mine" as he drew attention to his skinny frame, accentuated by an oversize vest and a baggy pair of pants. Benny Norris used to play the piano and i would sing songs from the American Garmentworkers' show "Pins and Needles".
When we weren't performing or rehearsing, we attended Unity's political discussions or the education classes the Communist Party organised regularly. Before long I had been recruited into the Young Communit League and Ted Willis took me in hand. [Ted Willis wrote The Blue lamp, which later was the basis for Dixon of Dock Green]. Soon after I joined the Party. After the shows we would go over to the pub to discuss the Party's line on art. "Art for art's sake" was abandoned for "art in the service of the people". Revolutionary art and realism was encouraged, and art as propaganda was our practice. I was reminded of those days recently when I saw Woody Allen's film Bullets over Broadway.
We had acting workshops where we discussed the Stanislavsky method and tried to put it ito practice in our performances. We studied our character in relation to real life, beyond the confines of the play. We looked at the social and historical background and had to think ourselves ito the psychology of the character and know how she would react to any circumstances. I learned a lot about people from these workshops but I cannot say that it made me any better an actress. Life was so hectic. Work by day, theatre each evening and parties all night, often at my friend Pam's flat in Coram Street, or at Ted Willis's in Belsize Park. He was a very unhappy man at the time. He would keep me up all night reading poetry to me - his own poems!
It was at a party that Ted took me to that I first met Roger Woddis, then in the army. He had been in Unity Theatre since 1938, both acting and writing sketches and songs for the shows. The party had gone on into the early hours of the morning and just as I was thinking of leaving, the door opened and a soldier in uniform came in. He looked around and came over to me. He asked me who I was and introduced himself and for the rest of the night he talked about his army experiences. Up and away early the next morning, I did not see Roger again until the end of the war as he was sent off to Italy into the thick of the action. When he returned our lives intertwined again and again over the years.
It was whilst I was at Unity that I decided that my war effort should take the form of working in an engineering factory. The Party gave me a little push in that direction too, but it was not a good experience. Up at 6am each morning for the 40 minute journey to clock on at the factory at 7.30 and then endure a day of general sexual harassment. As if that weren't enough, the vicious machines took bites out of my most vulnerable body parts whenever my attention wandered even for a second. I accepted it all because I wanted to be able to do my bit for the country as well as continue to perform at Unity Theatre. I would leave the factory at 4.30 in the afternoon to go straight to Unity for the evening erformance. The last straw was when they put me on night shift and the sexual harassment got really heavy. I then gave up the unequal struggle, left the factory and volunteered for the Women's Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF).
When I wrote to my friend john to tell him of my decision, his reply was "Don't indulge in your usual flights of fancy and begin romanticising about life under the flag. I think what you have done is neither good nor bad, but acceptance of one of the wartime jobs open to you. You are an intelligent girls with a natural cunning and a commission is the first rung to military fame...."