Like Dick Whittington, The Theatre at Chipping Norton has prospered on its journey over the past 35 years – since founders John and Tamara Malcolm obtained planning permission to create it in 1974. As with Dick, whenever disaster loomed – in the shape of threatened financial cuts from the Arts Council in 2008 for instance – the theatre company has (so far at least) always managed to “pick itself up, dust itself down, and start all over again”.

Now the pantomime at Chippy has become an established part of the Christmas ritual for thousands of West Oxfordshire people: children, parents and grandparents alike.

But what, I wondered, while waiting to order a drink in the bar, would the original builders of the theatre in Spring Street have thought of it all? For it is housed in a former Salvation Army Citadel, opened by the Army’s commandant, General Herbert Booth, and his lieutenant, Major Oliphant, in August 1888 – and thereby hangs a tale.

Foundation stones on the front of the building and in the auditorium read: “These stones were laid by one hundred of those who through great persecution boldly and conscientiously served their God.”

The persecution the Sally Army troops suffered in Chipping Norton, according to a report in the War Cry of April 1888, came at the bony hands of something called the Skeleton Army – a macabre bunch of ruffians, at that time numbering several thousand throughout the south of England, which some publicans had founded earlier in the decade to object to the Salvationists’ anti-alcohol teaching In Chipping Norton, they formed processions behind a coffin and clashed with the Salvation Army mercilessly. The War Cry reports their “organised attacks”, and adds that “not only are the male soldiers of the corps kicked and beaten during the whole of the time they are making their way to their barracks, but the same treatment is extended to the women”.

The Salvationists triumphed, though, and announced later: “We have opened fire on this town in right good earnest. The work of God has gone on in a most marvellous manner in spite of every foe.”

The Citadel remained in operation until 1962. Then the building, designed by engineers who had also been responsible for building Victorian music halls, suffered the indignity of being used as a furniture store for a few years until it was discovered, deserted, by the Malcolms. Both of them Royal Shakespeare Company actors, they immediately saw its potential.

In 1973, within two days of learning that it was for sale, they had persuaded an anonymous benefactor to lend them the money to buy it. Then more money poured in from trusts, councils, individuals, and fundraising ventures and appeals. A grant from the Gulbenkian Foundation the following year enabled the charitable theatre company to buy the cottage next door for conversion into a bar and gallery.

In 1990, number 7 Goddard’s Lane, also next door, was bought with the help of a fundraising campaign. It housed a day-time box office, rehearsal studio, green room, dressing rooms and administration offices.

In 1996, it reopened after an investment of more than £1m raised from public and private sources – including £678,000 from the National Lottery.

Perhaps General Booth, a Methodist who founded the Salvation Army in 1878, would wish The Theatre well. After all, his brainchild still marches on and helps thousands of homeless people, particularly at Christmas, even without its citadel.

Anyway, here is hoping The Theatre will prosper whatever austerities in the form of public spending cuts lie ahead.

Incidentally, Oxford University very much took the Sally Army to its heart. It granted General Booth an honorary doctorate after the Army built a fortress-like citadel in Castle Street, Oxford, in 1888. It was demolished to make way for the hideous county council offices in 1970.