大象传媒

I was working in the Borough Treasurer鈥檚 section of the Public Assistance Department in the Public Office in Princes Street. This was a department responsible for the rest centres and emergency feeding of bombed-out victims and we were, therefore, often some of the first to know where the disasters had struck. We also had a special warning system which sounded to warn us of enemy planes approaching and this often went off before the public siren.

The 25th of May at midday was warm and sunny, a real hint of the summer to come. I was working by the east-facing window and enjoying the fresh air when, without warning, the peace was shattered by the unmistakeable sound of a very bad air raid. As I made my way down to the strong room shelter, I was stopped by one of the senior officers with whom I fire watched. He advised me to go home. It was an unheard of thing to be allowed to go home early and worriedly I enquired: 鈥淚s it my end of the town?鈥�, to which he replied: 鈥淲e don鈥檛 exactly know yet, but just go home!鈥�.

My journey on the bus from Castle Square through Kemp Town soon revealed the severity of the raid in which considerable damage had been done, turning the once sunny morning into a dusty dullness. The nearer I got to my home in Sussex Square, the more worried I became. There was a huge house down in Chesham Road and as I looked up St Mark鈥檚 Street, saw that the gate lodge of St Mary鈥檚 Hall Girls鈥� School had taken a direct hit. The lodge-keeper was one of my father鈥檚 air-raid wardens and I found out later that he had been killed.

Working out the distance between strikes, I was convinced that as the bus came around the next corner I would see a huge gap in the north-east corner of Sussex Square where I lived. It was with considerable relief that I found the square still intact, the bombs having dropped just beyond.

On arriving home, I found my mother, cheerful as ever, clearing up a mass of broken glass from the shattered dining room windows. In spite of the force of the blast, the tumblers and lace mats with which she had just laid the table were still in their rightful position.

At the end of our garden there were 2 enormous sycamore trees, now bereft of their leaves but right at the very end of one, balanced precariously on a spread of tiny twigs, was the diminutive figure of a kitten. I called the caretaker who climbed up to the rescue expecting to retrieve a dead body, but after a rest and some warm milk the kitten recovered. We never discovered from whence she came or to whom she belonged, but Blitz as she was nicknamed lived on for many happy years, none the worse for her experience. I learned afterwards from a neighbour of ours home on leave from the Army, who had happened to be walking on the cliff top by Marine Gate, that the German planes came out of the sun very low over the calm sea, too low in fact for the ackack guns sited on the cliff top, and fanned out over Brighton dropping their bombs and machine-gunning the town. They were gone by the time the public sirens were sounded.

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Sue Craig from MyBrightonandHove on behalf of Pam Piercey and has been added to the site with her permission. Pam fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

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