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The events of a war tend to have a long and vivid effect on the minds of children. My own memories are varied and far reaching, too many to recount them all. The following are just a few of the many.

During the war, as a child, there were many days and nights that terrified me. In January 1943, my Father was serving as a Sergeant Major in the Royal Corps of Signals, somewhere in North Africa. This left me, my Mother, Gran and Grandfather living at home in Catford, South East London. At the time of my Lunch Time story, I was 1O years of age and attending classes on a daily basis at Sandhurst Road School. A whole day’s schooling was exceptional, as most London schools were partially taken over by either a balloon unit, an ack-ack gun battery, the Home Guard [yes, Dad’s Army really was very much like the real thing] or the A.R.P. This meant that children who had remained in London rarely received more than half of one day’s schooling.

January 20th, 1943, began, much the same as any other school day. However, the day was about to change the thoughts and lives of all who attended Sandhurst Road School. All the walls in the classrooms had been bricked up inside, to not only strengthen their structure, but hopefully to prevent the glass from the windows showering over the occupants. Unfortunately however, this precaution did not stop a bomb falling straight through the roof, into classrooms and the hall.

For a friend and I the events of that never to be forgotten lunch time began just after the bell for dinner had rung. We did not stay for lunch at school, and so we left the school grounds and had crossed Sandhurst Road, homeward bound, when we heard the sound of a distant siren. We quickened our pace in the hope that we could reach our respective homes before any active air raid occurred. This however, was not to be, because almost at the same instant that we heard the distant siren,we heard the sounds of low flying aircraft approaching . Looking skywards, we saw quite clearly swastika markings on the wings of the aeroplanes. We had been instructed to fall to the ground and to make ourselves as inconspicuous as possible should we be caught out in a raid. Just as we hit the ground, the leading aircraft opened up with machine-gun fire, some bullets ending up embedded in the garden wall behind us. At the same time, we heard the first of the bombs exploding.

We stayed flattened to the pavement, too scared to move, hands covering our heads. a I think I counted four explosions. I could of course be wrong, but that is how I remember it. The ground shook around us and the noise was shattering. We knew that we would not be safe until the planes had left the area. After, what seemed like a life time, and as neither of us appeared to be hurt in any way, crying with fright, we got up, looked behind us, and realised that one of the bombs we had hear had fallen into our school, about 500 yards away. I remember clearly that , there was complete silence.. We could only see a huge column of smoke rising above the school, obliterating all else.

The next clear memory I have wasof people running towards the school, and I believe it was a warden who, stopped to ask if we were hurt. I know I shook my head, then ran for home. My Mother, who knew that I would be making my way home for lunch, had heard the bombs exploding, and had seen the smoke coming from the direction of my route home, so had to run to find me. When we did meet, she gathered me into her arms and we just cried with sheer relief. As we turned towards home, we heard the sounds of fire engines and ambulances on their way to help my less fortunate classmates and teachers. I believe that about 30 children, and at least one teacher were killed on that awful, never to be forgotten day. Many more pupils and staff were injured, some very badly.

24 children, with one teacher placed at their centre, now rest in one grave in Hither Green Cemetery. Looking back to that time in my life, I firmly believe I had a guardian angel watching over me.

Whilst reading some of the interesting stories on WW2 People’s War, I came across an article by a Mrs Lyndia Coxhead, and found that she was indeed one of the pupils who had stayed to lunch at school and was unfortunately in the school when the bomb fell. This story is headed “The Bombing Of My School-A369245O. It was interesting for me to read at first hand, the inside story of that horrific lunchtime, as opposed to my own knowledge of what was taking place a few hundred yards outside the school.

A footnote to this story

A newspaper account, together with a picture taken after the raid on my school, subsequently found its way to North Africa, and although no location or name of the school was allowed to be published, my Father, picking up this newspaper, recognised our local Vicar, who was seen giving comfort to some of the parents who had identified their dead children. Dad went to see his Commanding Officer and asked if he could possibly discover if I was safe and unharmed. This, somehow he did and the powers that existed at that time sent a Red Cross Officer to our home, spoke to Mum and I,and sent a report back to North Africe for my poor worried Dad . A very charitable act for a worried serving soldier.

My husband and I now live in beautiful Devon, and are content, but the memories of World War 2 are too deeply etched in one’s mind to be erased.

ANOTHER WAR MEMORY — THE NIGHT AN INCENDIARY DEVICE FELL

War stories are varied, some humurous, whilst others are somewhat worrying. One such worrying tale was when we were forced to shelter under the dining room table, because our Anderson Shelter was once again flooded. The particular night I recall most clearly, was when a great many incendiaries were dropped on London. One of these bombs found its way down the dining room chimney, causing my Mother to crawl out from under the table and run to collect the bucket of water and stirrup pump, which was always kept handy during the war, together with a bucket of sand, in order to try to quell any fire quickly. Whilst Mum went for the water., I was sent for the sand. Fortunately for Mum and I, the incendiary did not explode — it just fizzed! However, I was so frightened by this incident, that my jaw became locked. That, needless to say, was even more frightening to a child That is why I remember that little episode so clearly.

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