Greenwich War Account
Sr Peter Buck
By August 1939, it was clear that war was imminent. Staff and children were recalled from their summer holidays and assembled at school each day with the stipulated hand luggage, ready to leave at short notice for an unknown destination. The summons to evacuate on September 1st arrived on the 30th August. Early in the morning coaches assembled on Blackheath. The party comprised of 200 children with younger brothers and sisters and sixteen members of staff. Eight sisters and eight secular mistresses. Amid the ordinary bustle of New Cross station, with trains arriving and departing in quick succession, a very long train drew in on a separate platform on which St Ursula’s waited with several other schools. The destination was guessed as Hastings quite quickly. The school remained in Hastings until the 23rd June 1940 when they were moved to Brecon. What of Greenwich at this time? The ‘phoney war’ ended in June 1940 and in September the Battle of Britain was waged. Sr Peter Buck, who lived through it all at Greenwich describes her experiences.
“I returned from evacuation to help Mother St Victor with the school at Greenwich, which unofficially began to operate again. The older girls who wanted to take their public exams became the nucleus of the school. The first excitement was an incendiary bomb on the convent roof, just near the chapel and a blazing spitfire lay outside the school gates. Until this time we had no provisions for a shelter- the children's cloakrooms were set up with beds and later we moved to the kitchen corridor.
One night in late September, like a bolt from the blue came a terrific crash, then silence. A land mine had exploded outside Ranger’s Lodge. The structure of Hyde Cliff building was severely shaken, the roof was lifted, doors hung drunkenly off their hinges and windows were blown out. About a month later a high explosive bomb took off the corner of Hyde Cliff wing. The nuns were in the shelter at the time, which filled with gas and clouds of dust. What a picture of destruction the following morning! One classroom had been blown away and one third of the big dormitory. Two big tanks had been hit and emptied their contents down through the house. The damage was made worse by the exposure to the heavy rain which brought down ceilings, spoiling floors and walls. Throughout the winter months we were under constant bombardment. A good night's rest was impossible but no one was downhearted. Sr Anthony Dunbar with true British fidelity, loudly proclaimed “St George slay the dragon!”
On the feast of St Joseph, 19th March 1941 at 8pm, a Molotov Bread Basket fell on the convent. The fires spread rapidly and the convent was completely ablaze. With wet handkerchiefs around our faces we tried to salvage bedding, we raced with anything procurable and dumped it in the chapel. Water was not available until 3am due to the high demand in the area, but an hour later the fires were under control. Fr McKenna came for mass at 5am and the light of the fire shone through the chapel windows giving a lurid glow. The children arrived as usual for school, some stayed to help but all were given two days' absence. Only the walls of 70 Crooms Hill were now standing. The contents of its four floors lay in a charred and smouldering mass within.
Gradually the raids grew less frequent and by May had ceased completely. Life for the next year was almost normal. By July 1942 almost all were home from Brecon, when suddenly in August fury broke out again. I was in the first room over the chapel taking a Plain Song practice when I saw a plane at eye level coming across the heath. It seemed to be coming straight for us, and machine gun fire could be heard. The girls dived under their desks but I was stunned and stared helplessly at the oncoming plane. The pilot was visible; he swept over our roof, passed between the convent and library straight for the town hall where he shot off the clock hands. He then dropped two bombs on the Naval College and bombed a local school as the children were going home. Casualties were high and two of our past pupils were killed.
Raids continued intermittently by day and night for the next two years. In June 1944 the doodle bugs started and one exploded in King George Street at the bottom of our gardens. From that time onwards there was incessant dread from the flying bombs and numbers in school dropped radically. The sixty girls who attended were all taking their public examinations and on many occasions had to dive under their desks for protection. Nevertheless, the results were good. Much to everyone's relief, school finished on the 16th July and on the afternoon of the 27th July a siren sounded. We paid little attention to it and joined the other sisters in the lime-tree walk. The unmistakable sound of a doodlebug suddenly cut out and we knew it was meant for us. Some stayed where they were, others tried to protect themselves against benches and some fled towards the house. The flying bomb in its decent had tipped the elm tree outside the school gate and exploded there, uprooting the tree. The shell of the bomb flew through the parlour window where it poised itself on the table and caused a fire. The caretaker's cottage and most of the front part of the school was destroyed.
Our ordeal was nearing its end and the Ministry of Education granted us repair damage. On 6th January 1945 we were invaded by an army of 98 workmen, who with devoted skill and labour restored the school to order. Among them was a young Irishman who confided in Sr Colomba that he wanted to become a priest and Sr Agnes Curtin coached him in Latin O-Level so that he would be able to enter the seminary. He became the centre of the community's prayers. The last of the rockets came at the end of March and finally peace on the 7th May 1945. It was blissful to be able to sleep at night and above all, to feel that the children could travel in safety and learn peacefully”
