Holiday - with a difference - in Lowestoft

Two weeks away from the Blitz — or so I thought
It was in a January in the early ‘40s (1941 or 1942 — perhaps someone can remind me, if they recognise the story) that I was allowed a fortnight’s holiday while in nursing training in London. My home was in Scotland but there was no point in my going there since there was no one at home. However, my mother, a widow, was in Lowestoft in charge of a Rest Centre and Canteen for naval personnel which had been set up by the Church of Scotland. It seemed the answer to my holiday problem.
Trains were unheated in those days and the journey was long and tedious, but I arrived eventually and found my way to the Rest Centre which was in the middle of the town next to a cinema and opposite department stores, tearooms and hotels.

The Centre’s work
The Centre had started as a small room furnished to give warmth and comfort, with reading and writing facilities, but such was the demand, that the premises had to be enlarged to accommodate the increasing number of Norwegians, English and Scots attracted by the home baking and hot soup.
Working parties of sailors were delegated to scrub floors, wash dishes and peel potatoes. One rating complained that he couldn’t sleep at night for the eyes winking at him. Services were held on Sundays, and entertainments organised. A staff of ladies, some Lowestoft housewives and officers’ wives offered to serve the meals. For many men it was a little bit of home.
There were frequent air raid warnings and “Red alerts” sounded when danger was imminent, but people became used to them.

Bombs fall
One evening at about 5pm when the area was thronged with busy people finishing work and doing their last-minute shopping, a stick of bombs fell with massive force along the street. Diving under the counter we in the kitchen tried to shelter from the rain of bricks, glass and the choking dust. When we got to our feet, mercifully unharmed, we realised that the whole front of the building had collapsed and was open to the elements, and where once we had looked out on a busy thoroughfare there was now nothing but piles of rubble. An appalled silence followed as we assessed the extent of the devastation. To make matters worse snowflakes floated in and it was bitterly cold.

Miracle soup
By some miracle the urns filled with soup and boiling water had somersaulted from the cookers behind us to the floor, yet none of us was scalded. Not one person in the Rest Centre was injured, and supplies of gas and electricity and the telephone remained intact.
Somehow we managed to clean up most of the mess, the urns were put back in place and we prepared to provide almost the only hot drinks to be had. The cinema next door, although extensively damaged, served as a temporary mortuary. From time to time a whistle sounded and there was sudden silence as the rescuers listened for voices from those trapped in the debris.
Throughout that long night we have out cups of tea and bowls of soup to relief workers, wardens, police and anyone who came for food, comfort and friendship. When time allowed we took turns to sit with our feet in the gas oven to warm them a little. It was some comfort to know that we were able to help at such a time when many lives were lost.
By the cold grey light of morning it was obvious that without major repairs the Rest Centre could not continue to function and that the work in Lowestoft would be put on hold until new premises were found.
My holiday was certainly the most unexpected in my lifetime and I shall not forget it.

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