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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Pauline Keevil of Uckfield Community Learning Centre, a volunteer from ´óÏó´«Ã½ Southern Counties Radio on behalf of Sheelagh Hoblyn and has been added to the site with her permission. Sheelagh Hoblyn fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

Towards the end of the war, a new kind of bomb stated falling on us — the flying bomb, or doodlebug, as we called it. At that time I was working in Fleet Street, as secretary to the editor of a weekly magazine, the Newspaper World. Many of our stories at that time concerned the War Correspondents of various newspapers, and these always had to be read, and sometimes censored, by the Ministry of information. When there was some urgency to get a story passed on our Press Day, one of our staff was sent to the Ministry to get the script passed and back to Fleet Street quickly. On this occasion the Editor asked me to go on this errand in my lunch hour, and so I went to Senate House, part of the University of London, in Malet Street, Bloomsbury, where the Ministry was housed. The story was duly passed for publication, and I set off on foot back to the office.

Everyone who remembers the doodlebugs will recall how their engines droned loudly as they flew in lower and lower, and then a terrifying moment as the engine cut out, a moment’s silence, and then familiar swooosssh of a bomb descending, and the crrrummmmppp and concussion of its explosion nearby. This particular doodlebug followed me as I walked along Aldwych, and exploded in the middle of the street. I was just passing Bush House, and fortunately the blast blew the swing doors open and me in. I was badly bruised but not otherwise hurt, landing in a heap beside a table in the foyer. Other people walking in Aldwych were not so lucky, they were hurled against the wall of Bush house and some were killed.

Some kind person helped me up, and took me out to a taxi which had been lower down the road and undamaged and together with another girl whose legs were broken I was taken to Charing Cross Hospital. Here, I was briefly examined, found to be relatively unhurt, and discharged. I again set out back to Fleet Street, and after a rather painful walk, still clutching my handbag and document case, I arrived at my office. My editor was at first very angry that I had taken such a very long lunch —hour, but when he heard the reason he at once sent me home, and instructed one of our doormen to accompany me on another long walk — back to Charing Cross Station, where I caught a train back to my home at West Wickham, in Kent.

The next morning my mother took me to see our family doctor, who examined my bruised but found fortunately only superficial injuries. I had been completely deaf since the bomb exploded near me, and he told me that my left eardrum had been badly damaged but he hoped it would improve, though it would always be scarred, this was confirmed earlier this year (only 60 years later!) when I was an audiologist to see if I needed a hearing aid.

Avery sad coincidence: my job as secretary to our Editor came about because my predecessor had been called up and put to work in the Air Ministry at Bush House. When the bomb flew along Aldwych this girl went to look out of the window. Although the glass was protected with strips of plastic it still shattered, and she was blinded.

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