Though Wakefield can be justifiably proud of the preservation and continued flourishing of the Theatre Royal, its best surviving cinema building has come to a sticky end.
The RegalCinema at the junction of Kirkgate and Sun Lane was opened on December 9th 1935 by the Associated British Picture Corporation.
It was designed by ABC’s house architect, William R Glen, in the instantly recognisable modern style that most people know as Art Deco. To the left of the corner entrance, the walls swept in a graceful curve following the alignment of Sun Lane.
The interior had the characteristics of thirties design – bold curves, concealed lighting and a 43-foot wide proscenium framing what in those days was a standard Academy-ratio screen.
In fact, though it only seated 1,594 at the outset – mid-range in comparison with other contemporary urban cinemas – the stage was 26 feet deep, providing space for major drama or dance productions.
Its later history was similar to many other town cinemas – rebranded as ABC in 1962, tripled by inserting two small screens in the stalls under the balcony in 1976, sold to the Cannon group in 1986. It closed in 1997, shortly after a major Cineworld multiplex opened in the town.
A covenant requiring the building to remain in cinema use inhibited any possibility of adaptive re-use.
The building rotted while proposals to convert it into flats in 2007 or to demolish it to make way for a new apartment building in 2013 came to nothing.
Eventually Wakefield Borough Council bought it in 2020, in desperation that a fine building which had become an eyesore would before long become a hazard.
A rearguard action by an energetic Friends group, supported by the Cinema Theatre Association, tried unsuccessfully to convince the Council there was any future for the building or its façade, but a “non-obtrusive structural survey” concluded that demolition would be safer before it began to fall down.
In June 2021 the Council resolved to flatten it to create a temporary “green space” until a replacement structure, designed to “celebrate” Glen’s 1930s design, could be built.
It stands on the site of an earlier Theatre Royal, which had been built in 1776 for the actor-manager Tate Wilkinson (1739-1803).
Under his management John Kemble performed in Wakefield in 1778 and 1788 and Sarah Siddons in 1786; in the following generation Charles Kemble acted at the Theatre Royal in 1807 and Edmund Kean in 1819.
The old theatre went into gradual decline through the middle of the nineteenth century, and in 1871 became a beer house and music hall, licensed by John Brooke, the landlord of the Black Horse pub.
In 1883 it was revived as the Royal Opera House by Benjamin Sherwood, but was denied a licence nine years later because of the condition of the building.
The replacement theatre was built in 1894 in nine months flat at a cost of £13,000 to Matcham’s designs and opened on October 15th that year.
After the failure of Benjamin Sherwood’s marriage in 1900 his wife Fanny and their children took over the theatre as Sherwood & Co.
In the early 1950s their family sold it for £20,000 to Solomon Sheckman, owner of the Essoldo chain of cinemas. He installed a wide screen for Cinemascope in 1954 and operated it solely as a cinema until he leased it as a bingo hall in 1966.
It passed to Ladbrokes and was listed Grade II in 1979.
When Ladbrokes announced its closure in 1980 the Wakefield Theatre Trust, led by Rodney (latterly Sir Rodney) Walker, began a campaign to bring live theatre back to the town.
The restoration involved –
renewing the stage house
strengthening the grid and installing a new counterweight system for flying
re-raking the stalls and lower circle floors
reinstating the front-of-house canopy
removing the projection box
The building is Grade II* listed, largely on the strength of the quality of the auditorium decoration by De Jong of London – bombé balcony fronts, foliage, fruit and flowers on the lower balcony and paired dolphins in waves on the upper circle. The original colour-scheme was gold and blue. The proscenium is intact, and the ceiling has eight decorative medallions of the Muses, reinstated by Kate Lyons, who placed the ninth muse in the central panel of the dress circle front.
It reopened with a gala show on March 16th 1986. Arthur Starkie, who co-ordinated the theatre’s centenary celebrations, founded the Frank Matcham Society at the Theatre Royal in 1994.
The Trust acquired the adjacent street-corner site to create a new entrance and bar. Further grants in 1995, 2002 and 2012 enabled improvements to the auditorium.
The theatre has gained prestige from the appointment as creative director of the playwright John Godber in 2011. He was born locally, at Upton, and taught drama at the nearby Bretton Hall College. His breakthrough play, Bouncers (1977) has become a perennial favourite, and his John Godber Company is resident at the Theatre Royal.
I first saw Bouncers at the Wakefield Theatre Royal. The play is performed by four male actors in black tie, who play the bouncers, the stroppy youths who have to be chucked out and the girls dancing round their handbags. John Godber portrays the bitter-sweet lives of the men who spend their Saturday nights dealing with the clients who create so much noise, aggression and vomit.
At the end of the night, walking out of the theatre on to Westgate was like stepping into the play.
I’ve never been to Belfast, so that aspect of his writing was new territory for me, but the Sheffield sections relate to my childhood memories and my more recent local-history research.
Sam writes as part of the “new cinema history” movement [https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1057/9781137337016_7], which seeks to place the contemporary experience of going to the pictures in the wider context of social history in the first sixty-five years of the twentieth century.
This extends the ubiquitous nostalgia accounts of the generation that knew or worked in cinemas until the 1960s and the analyses of cinema architecture, the business history of the industry and the endless literature of films and film-makers that have appeared in recent decades.
On the local level, I learned a great deal because Sam has done the legwork of surveying the surviving archives of individual cinemas against city-wide data from local newspapers, government and industry records and oral-history evidence.
He revises the long-held view that suburban cinema-going was killed by the advent of television. There were other significant factors in play – increasing affluence, flight from inner-city slums to new housing estates and the rise of a generation of young people who thought they’d invented “teenage”, the generation commemorated in Cliff Richard’s hit ‘The Young Ones’ (1962).
He also explains a counterintuitive feature of Sheffield’s post-war cinema history, the building on Flat Street of one of the few post-war Odeon cinemas, later followed by a luxurious ABC on Angel Street.
In the 1930s, when three major chains – Odeon, Gaumont and ABC – dominated the national industry, Sheffield’s cinemas were largely owned by local companies. Gaumont British Theatres took over the Regent in 1929, two years after it opened, and in 1931 ABC leased the Hippodrome, a variety theatre dating back to 1907, which they gave up in 1948. Neither invested in the sort of super-cinema that is the villain of the piece in the film The Smallest Show on Earth (1957).
The Odeon chain leased a site at the junction of Flat Street and Norfolk Street in 1933, and after a five-year delay the architects Harry Weedon and W Calder Robson designed a 2,326-seat cinema, four shops and a three-storey office block. Construction began in March 1939 and quickly came to a halt at the outbreak of the Second World War.
The post-war realignment of Sheffield’s proposed inner ring road, later known as Arundel Gate, meant redesigning the Odeon on a smaller footprint.
When building restrictions were removed in 1954 the pre-war steelwork was dismantled and the new cinema, without the intended shops and offices, was built to a completely fresh design by Harry Weedon and Robert Bullivant.
This design featured a 55-foot screen and seated 2,319 – 1,505 in the stalls and 814 in the balcony. Lighting in the auditorium was by three rows of fittings hanging close to the ceiling and from concealed lights in the two decorative panels each side of the proscenium. Sheffield had seen nothing like it before.
The new Odeon opened on July 16th 1956 with the newly-released Kenneth More feature-film Reach for the Sky, attended by the Deputy Lord Mayor, Ald Joseph Curtis, the managing director of the Rank Organisation, John Davis, and his wife, film star Dinah Sheridan, accompanied by the Dagenham Girl Pipers, state trumpeters from the York & Lancaster Regiment and a contingent of service personnel from RAF Norton.
In November 1958 the Odeon was equipped to show Todd-AO wide-screen films with stereophonic sound so that it could specialise in long runs of blockbuster movies.
By the mid-1960s, cinema-going habits had changed radically. The Sound of Music on first release ran from October 3rd 1965 until February 1967. It was immediately followed by Khartoum (1966).
For a short period of slightly less than two years, there were four high-quality 70mm screens in the city. The new ABC had a 60ft screen from its opening on May 18th 1961. The 70ft screen at the Gaumont was first used on July 23rd 1969 and the smaller screen at Gaumont 2 followed in October of the same year.
The Odeon closed on June 5th 1971 at the end of a further fourteen-month run of The Sound of Music and reopened in September of the same year as a Top Rank bingo hall, later rebranded as Mecca.
The Gaumont closed on November 7th 1985, followed by the ABC on July 28th 1988. Both buildings were demolished.
Over years of driving into
East Anglia I have only associated Felixstowe
with processions of container trucks hammering down the A14.
When I stayed at the Woodbridge Station Guest House I took the train to Ipswich and then on to Felixstowe to a happy surprise. “Felix” is, after all, Latin for “happy”.
The mouth of the River
Orwell has been strategically important, both for trade and defence, since
Roman times at least, and grew markedly after the arrival of the railway in
1877 and the opening of the port in 1886.
The passenger train-service now terminates at the latest of the town’s three stations, Felixstowe Town (1898), which was built in response to an upturn in tourism after the 1891 visit of Princess Augusta Victoria of Schleswig-Holstein (1858-1921), Queen Victoria’s great-niece and the wife of Germany’s last Kaiser, Wilhelm II.
The walk down Hamilton
Road, now partly pedestrianised, leads to a clifftop view of the Pier (1905; rebuilt 2017) [http://www.felixstowe-pier.co.uk], with the cranes of the distant docks to the right, and the promenade to the left.
The seafront is dotted with
opulent former hotels, of which the Felix
Hotel (1903) is the most prominent.
This is where Princess Victoria and her family stayed in 1901 and,
coincidentally, where Wallis Simpson took rooms while her divorce took place in
nearby Ipswich in 1936. (This was the
occasion of the legendary American newspaper headline “KING’S MOLL RENO’D IN
WOLSEY’S HOME TOWN.”) The Felix closed
in 1952 and became the headquarters of the fertiliser company Fisons Ltd for
thirty years. It is now, predictably,
converted to apartments.
[http://www.landguard.com] introduces visitors to the long history of
Felixstowe’s defences. This was the
location of the last opposed invasion of England in 1677, and four of the
original seven Martello towers in the town survive.
I had a typical seaside
lunch, fish and chips at Fish Dish [http://www.myfishdish.co.uk]. When I told the guy behind the till that the
place reminded me of Whitby he smiled and said he’d trained and worked at
Whitby for thirteen years before setting up in Essex.
The pleasures of Felixstowe
are simple. On a sunny day you can sit
on a promenade bench and watch vast container ships, loaded to capacity, making
their way out of the port at surprising speed.
And, because Ipswich is a
significant rail hub, you can visit Felixstowe from far afield without using a
This is an intriguing place, a medieval hill-top castle
documented from 1256 and for centuries owned by the Ricasoli-Firidolfi family,
who sold up only in 1968. The interiors,
on the ground floor at least, are entirely baroque, with an unrestored patina
of faded splendour.
We were treated to a cookery demonstration by the chef,
Elena, who spoke only Italian, translated (or perhaps explicated) by the
hostess Geraldine, who extolled the quality of the Castle’s extra virgin olive
oil, which we were invited to smell and taste.
We were shown how to make an Italian stew, which seemed to me exactly how I would make an English stew with Italian ingredients.
The pasta-making demonstration was more entertaining, and a
great deal of pasta was passed hand to hand around the group.
We were invited out for antipasti
on the terrace, where a classical wing of the house (with a medieval turret on
the end) faces a flat lawn and a wall, from where expanses of hillside
vineyards are visible.
No sooner had we wandered outside than a misty rain began to
fall, and within ten minutes the waitresses shifted the antipasti back into the castle and a loud clap of thunder heralded
a downpour that lasted no more than half an hour.
We tucked into the antipasti
indoors while Geraldine gave lectures first on the Castle’s white wine and then
on the rosé, all the time pouring wine into everyone’s glasses and interrupting
her flow with “I’ll fetch another bottle.”
There was no sniffing or spitting.
This was a straightforward invitation to get trollied.
We weren’t formally shown the downstairs rooms, but instead
trotted off to the cellars which are tricked out with barrels and racks of
Geraldine took us from the cellars to a surprise – a tiny,
intact private theatre, dated 1741, complete with perspective scenery and a
balcony. I can find nothing of any
significance about it online, and I’ve never come across it in the
Indeed, I wonder if its provenance and history have been
seriously researched. It is at any rate
a great rarity.
A three-course dinner followed, liberally lubricated with
red chianti and a dessert wine. I sat
back from the conversation and watched the sunset through the trees outside the
Then predictably, “pat,…like the catastrophe in the old
comedy”, came the buying opportunity. My
fellow guests queued up to buy bottles of wine and olive oil, while I sat in an
armchair and watched.
Eventually we began the journey back, of which the first seventy minutes were simply a succession of hairpin bends and a few small villages. We joined the motorway south of Florence, and it took another three-quarters of an hour to reach our hotel in Montecatini Terme.
The launch took place in the fly tower of the Abbeydale Picture House, and Darren
asked me to explain to his guests the history of this unique piece of cinema
The Grade II listed Abbeydale Picture House was always a gem
among Sheffield’s suburban cinemas, and thanks to a succession of sympathetic
owners it’s survived to entertain new generations of patrons nearly a hundred
years after its opening.
One of six Sheffield cinemas to open in 1920, its original
proprietors were local businessmen, led by a professional cinema exhibitor,
seeking to capitalise on the demand for entertainment after the First World
They hedged their bets by instructing the architect, Pascal
J Steinlet, to build a full-scale theatre fly tower, enabling the cinema screen
to be flown out of the way of stage performances, and to use the sloping site
to include a ballroom and billiard hall beneath the auditorium and stage, with
a café to serve cinema patrons.
The directors considered that moving pictures alone might
not generate enough trade, and when post-war inflation ate into their original
budget of £50,000 they changed plans and installed an organ by the Sheffield
firm Brindley & Co.
Because Pascal Steinlet had not been briefed to include an
organ chamber, the instrument stood immediately behind the screen, centre
stage, making it impossible to use the stage and dressing rooms for
Anxious to generate income, they opened the cinema as soon
as they could, on December 20th 1920.
The Lord Mayor, Alderman Wardley, attended the first film-performance, a
costume romance, The Call of the Road,
starring Victor McLaglen.
Their fear that film alone would not support the company
proved correct. In June 1921 the
original board was replaced by the directors of the Star Cinema, Ecclesall
Road, who quickly took out debentures to complete the café, ballroom and
billiard hall before the end of the year.
In 1928, probably as a response to the imminent arrival of talking
pictures, the organ was moved to the back of the stage, where it was barely
audible, to make way for cine-variety performances, which continued until the
first sound film, Janet Gaynor in Sunny
Side Up, played on March 10th 1930.
The organ continued in use until 1940, and the last
organist, Douglas Scott, complained that “the volume was poor, due to the fact
that the organ chambers were placed as far back as possible on the stage and…at
least 20% of the sound went through the stage roof. The screen and tabs took their toll of sound
and when the safety curtain was lowered nothing could be heard in the theatre.”
There’s evidence for this on the back wall of the fly tower,
where two rows of holes for the joists of the stage floor are visible, the
higher row showing a clear gap where after 1928 the organ would have stood on
the original stage floor. The position of
the organ meant that only the downstage half of the stage was usable, so
presumably the rake was increased to maintain the sight-lines Pascal Steinlet
I hope that when the building is comprehensively restored
the stage floor will be reinstated so that it can be used for performances.
Palace Theatre in Toxteth was built for James Kiernan, a Liverpool theatre
proprietor and designed by J H Havelock-Sutton, a Liverpool architect.
auditorium is a simple rectangle, with the balcony (now removed) around three
sides. There were two boxes (also now
gone), decorated with tall oval bevelled mirrors and lit with brass gas
brackets. Corinthian pilasters with
acanthus-leaf bases flank the proscenium and support a broken pediment. The proscenium is thirty feet wide. Backstage there were four dressing rooms but
accounts mention a gallery, and the Royal Arms mounted above the proscenium
following a visit by King Edward VII in 1903, but there is no present-day
evidence of either.
original audience capacity was 1,100 (600 in the pit and stalls, 500 in the
balcony) and it opened on December 4th 1893 as a variety theatre.
retained its music-hall licence, the building was used as a cinema from
1905. For a time the Sheffield cinema
impresario Jasper Redfern ran it, and the Weisker Brothers took it over and
renamed it the Kinematodrome in 1910.
Peter Dunn acquired it and ran it as cine-variety for nearly twenty years. During the 1920s there was a seven-piece
orchestra. The variety acts and the
orchestra ceased abruptly with the introduction of sound movies on January 8th
1930. By then the capacity had reduced
Dunn’s death in 1934, the proprietor was Miss Sheila Dunn, presumably his
film show – Russ Tamblyn in The Young
Guns and John Payne in Hold Back the
Night – took place on March 11th 1959.
After its demise as a cinema the Park Palace was successively used as a factory, a chemist’s shop and a store for motor-vehicle spares. For a period from 1984 it became the Mill Street Chapel.
Subsequently the building was largely left to deteriorate.
briefly revived as a performance space in 2008, and was once used as a location
for the Channel 4 soap-opera Hollyoaks,
but from 2010 onwards it was advertised to let.
unused until 2017, when Keith Hackett and his daughter, Bridget Griffin, set up
Park Palace Ponies, to provide a riding school aimed at local children under
ten, bringing them the benefits of spending time with horses and the perception
that horse-riding isn’t only for the affluent.
Hundreds of children from south-central Liverpool (defined as postcodes
L8, L17 and L18) have since taken part in riding lessons at the Palace: http://www.parkpalaceponies.com.
The community benefits of this scheme are palpable, and not confined to the children and their families. The horses graze at the local allotments, where their manure is much appreciated.
Park Palace Ponies is included in the itinerary of the rescheduled Unexpected Liverpool (June 6th-10th 2022). For further details of the tour, please click here.
I’d never have found my way to Monticatini Terme if I hadn’t booked a Great Rail Journeys ‘Highlights of Tuscany’ holiday [https://www.greatrail.com/tours/highlights-of-tuscany] which was based in the excellent Hotel Francia & Quirinale [https://www.franciaequirinale.it/en], providing four-star quality with individuality and amenity, meticulously efficient service, an elegant lobby, a spacious lounge with many settees and a grand piano and an equally spacious restaurant with a separate area for private parties.
Baths on this site are documented back to 1201, and were reported by the Montecatini physician Ugolino Simoni in 1417. In modern times the spa was developed by Grand Duke Peter Leopold, who sponsored the construction of the Bagno Regio (1773), the Terme Leopoldine (1775) and the Terme Tettuccio (1779).
The heyday of the resort was the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Though some parts are in need of restoration they evoke the time when the composer Verdi lived in the town, with such neighbours as Pietro Mascagni, Ruggero Leoncavallo, Beniamino Gigli and Luigi Pirandello.
A series of elaborate marble counters offers a variety of waters through labelled taps: Rinfresco, which “promotes the elimination of waste through the renal pathways and restores lost salts in sports training”, was the only water that was actually flowing and for lack of a cup I couldn’t drink any of it. It wasn’t very warm. Behind the counters a series of tiled pictures show the ages of man, voluptuously suggesting how water improves health at every age.
I had lunch – smoked salmon and remarkably tasty white bread accompanied by a litre of aqua naturale – in the high, domed, dignified Caffè Le Terme, far too grand to be called a café in any language but Italian. On a very hot day the air conditioning was natural and effective – huge doors wide open on three sides of the high-ceilinged room.
Elsewhere in the park from the main complex are other spa buildings, the Terme Torretta (1904), the Terme Excelsior (1907) and the Terme Tamerici (1911).
Tunbridge Wells was a staid and respectable spa town, not over-supplied with theatres in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.
Mrs Sarah Baker’s Tunbridge Wells Theatre, opened in the Pantiles in 1802, was used as a theatre for about fifty years and then converted into a Corn Exchange which still exists.
In the decade when the borough became Royal Tunbridge Wells, thanks to the merry monarch, King Edward VII, the Opera House was promoted by Mr J Jarvis and opened in 1902.
It was designed by John Priestly Briggs (1869-1944) who among much else built the Grand Theatre, Doncaster (1899, with J W Chapman).
The splendid Baroque exterior includes a range of shops on three sides and a balcony above the entrance leading out of the dress circle bar. The central dome was originally surmounted by a nude statue of Mercury which was removed after the First World War.
The intimate auditorium, originally seating 1,100, is lavishly decorated with a dress circle and balcony , and a central saucer dome above the stalls.
The proscenium is 28 feet wide and the stage is 32 feet deep, with a grid 44 feet high. The proscenium arch has brackets in the upper corners and is surmounted by relief figures representing Music and Drama.
The eccentric local landowner John Christie (1882-1962) reopened the Opera House as a cinema in 1925. He had taken over the organ-builder William Hill & Son & Norman & Beard Ltd in 1923, and installed an ambitious five-manual organ with pipework located on stage and the console in the enlarged orchestra pit.
The organ was sold to a New Zealand buyer in 1929 but the stage remained in use for annual amateur operatic performances from 1932 to 1966.
The history of the building after John Christie’s time is conventional – refurbished in 1931, bomb-damaged but repaired and reopened in 1949, taken over by Essoldo in 1954.
In 1966 the local council refused a bingo licence and listed it Grade II. After a couple of years of controversy, the final film-show (Paul Schofield in A Man for All Seasons) took place on February 3rd 1968, and the Opera House reopened as a bingo club in July the same year.
The bingo club, successively operated by Essoldo, Ladbrokes, Top Rank and Cascade, eventually closed in 1995, and after a public campaign to prevent demolition, the Opera House was taken over by the J D Wetherspoon chain in 1996 and adapted as a public house that can be used for opera one day each year.
J D Wetherspoon has an outstanding reputation for transforming redundant historic buildings into enjoyable places to eat and drink. By combining business acumen with sensitivity to the localities in which it trades, the company enables heritage structures to earn their keep and bring enjoyment to customers.
At the Tunbridge Wells Opera House the seating remains in the dress circle and, unused, in the gallery. The boxes are practical but cramped, and the stained glass panels in the doors to each box and the vestibule at the back of the dress circle are restored. The stage house retains its fly floors and bridge, and the original lighting board and the counterweights for the house tabs remain in situ.
And in the meantime, any day of the week, breakfast to suppertime, anyone can walk in and enjoy a complete Edwardian auditorium with good pub food, beverages and a wide range of drinks at very reasonable prices.
Church of King Charles the Martyr, Royal Tunbridge Wells
The site of Tunbridge Wells was empty fields until Dudley, Lord North (1581-1666) came upon a chalybeate (iron-bearing) spring in 1609 while staying at a lodge in nearby Eridge for his health.
He publicised the therapeutic powers of the waters –
These waters youth in age renew,
Strength to the weak and sickly add,
Give the pale cheek a rosy hue
And cheerful spirits to the sad.
– and attracted royal approval when Queen Henrietta Maria, consort of King Charles I visited in 1630.
The Lord of the Manor, Donagh MacCarthy, 1st Earl of Clancarty (1594–1665), enclosed the spring and built a meeting hall “to shelter the dippers in wet weather”. Nevertheless, when Queen Catherine of Braganza took the waters in 1664, her court was accommodated in tents.
The spa’s first assembly room was in fact the Church of King Charles the Martyr, built as a brick chapel of ease in 1684. Its unusual dedication memorialised the executed monarch, whose death was until 1859 remembered as an Anglican feast-day on the anniversary of his execution, January 30th.
The land for the church was given by Viscountess Purbeck and the fundraising and subsequent building programme was supervised by the MP and entrepreneur Thomas Neale (1641–1699) as part of his nearby development of shops and inns.
The fine plaster ceiling of five domes was installed in 1678 by John Wetherell, who had worked for Sir Christopher Wren at Greenwich. Five years later a further dome was installed to the north, opposite the original doorway.
This building quickly became too small for either an assembly or its congregation.
In 1688-1690 Henry Doogood, Sir Christopher Wren’s chief plasterer, took down the west wall, replacing it with the tall columns that still stand in the middle of the nave, and doubled the size of the interior, duplicating the plaster ceiling with, as Pevsner remarks, “more bravura” than the original.
Strict social separation was maintained between the high-status worshippers in the body of the church and the tradespeople and servants above: the oak-panelled seventeenth-century galleries were originally accessible only from outside.
Ironically, when the then Princess Victoria, aged sixteen, with her mother, the Duchess of Kent, visited in 1835 she sat in the north balcony which was at the time close to the pulpit and the altar.
St Charles the Martyr became a parish church – with an unusually small area, 65 acres, much of it common land,– only in 1889, when for the first time the interior was oriented to the east by the architect Ewan Christian.
The three-decker pulpit was removed and the seating reversed to face the present-day chancel, removing the anomaly that the communion table stood at the side of the church, out of sight of most worshippers.
In this refurbishment the Credo and Paternoster boards by William Cheere were brought from the church of All Hallows, Bread Street, in the City of London (built 1681-84; demolished 1878).
The Church of King Charles the Martyr is a highly unusual building and well worth a visit. The greeters are particularly welcoming: http://kcmtw.or