The Middy - September 16 1999

At war…. Again

21 years after the conclusion of the war that was to end all wars, Britain found itself involved in hostilities again.

A final British note, presented in Berlin at 9 am on Sunday, September 3, 1939, allowed the German government two hours in which to give an undertaking that they would at once withdraw their troops from Poland.

At 11:15 am, Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain broadcast to the nation the news "that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently, the country is at war with Germany”.

The Mid Sussex Times, which came out the following Tuesday, two days after Chamberlain's broadcast, was remarkably restrained in its coverage of these world changing events. The headline read: The British Lions tail – Hitler Twists It Once Too Often, while the story beneath included an account of The Kings broadcast and the creation of the War Cabinet.

This momentous news was not the only front-page story, though: competing for the space was a “pretty wedding” in Bolney Parish Church and a notice to Ardingly water consumers.

Mid Sussex had it first taste of war shortly after Chamberlain’s address to the nation, when the quiet of the Sunday morning was interrupted by the wail of the raid sirens. The Middy reported: "the suddenness of it all threw people into a flurry and those in the streets rushed for their homes or nearby shelter, while in the houses there were hurried searches for gas masks. There was almost and audible gasp of relief when the all clear signal went.”

The Middy of September 5, 1939, also reported how others greeted the news. At Lindfield Parish Church, the Sunday morning service had been in progress for half an hour when the information was passed to the Rev. R. Daunton–Fear: "we would be most grateful if you would kindly go home; war has been declared, "he said, and without any sign of panic the congregation Rosen slowly filed out of the church.

Haywards Heath Hospital was cleared of all patients well enough to return home and preparations were made to accommodate patients evacuated from London hospitals. Territorials were drafted in to put up sandbags at the hospital, at Cuckfield Rural District Council offices and the police station.

Workers at Burgess Hill Urban District Council were also busy on the Sunday, sandbagging their own premises, which doubled as the ARP headquarters. Cinemas, theatres and other places of entertainment were temporarily closed and "sports gatherings" were also prohibited until further notice.

The midi so that one of its duties was to inform the public about what to do when air raid warnings sounded.

The drivers of motor vehicles, it said, had to stop and park at the side of the road or else in a car park or open space off the highway. At night headlamps had to be switched off, but side and rear lamps should be left on. All cars must be left unlocked and then driver and passengers – remembering to remove articles of value – should go to the nearest shelter.

Cyclist, meanwhile, had to take their cycles off the road and placed them where they would not cause obstruction.

Horses should be tied up – but not to lampposts or railings. People caught outdoors when the warnings sounded advised to follow signs leading to public basement or trenches. 

The police issued what seems today are bizarre statement: "if poison gas has been used, warning will be given by hand rattles. The ringing of handbells will announce the danger from gas has passed. "

Under the heading the great exodus from London, The Middy reported that the population of Mid Sussex had nearly doubled in just three days with the arrival of more than 10,000 evacuees from Greater London.

The paper wrote: "From Friday onwards, the Southern Railway was the scene of unprecedented activity, as long train is packed with children and their attendance rush down to the coast or deposited there loads of labelled and regimented humanity at centres like Haywards Heath, Three Bridges and Hassocks.”

One reporter was clearly moved by the exodus noting: "watching the youngsters with their haversacks and bags, their gas masks and parcels slung across their shoulders or clasped in little hands, lined up outside gateways while the billeting officers were arranging for accommodation, brought a lump to the throat. It might have been one's own children who had been torn from their homes and were seeking refuge amongst strangers in a strange place.“

The reporter added: "the smaller ones cried dismally for their mothers; the older boys and girls put a bold front on and sang lustily courses from Boomps-a-Daisy and the Lambeth walk.

Not all children had miserable experiences, however, and the first wave of evacuees provided plenty of stories for the Middy, which published a roundup of anecdotes in this first wartime edition.

A party of nine boys, found strolling up the High Street in Cuckfield, said they were living "in a palace” compared to their homes in London. Other evacuees said they had never seen green fields before and had only one recreation ground near the dingy London streets.

One child, staying in Ashenground Wood, Haywards Heath, was surprised to find blackberries growing wild – he'd never seen such a thing before. A six-year-old boy, on being shown the garden at the rear of his Burgess Hill Home, exclaimed "look! apples on a tree! “ It was the first time he had ever seen fruit growing.

Some of the new arrivals let their excitement get the better of them. A Burgess Hill woman, with a Limehouse boy billeted on her, heard her own children screaming.

Rushing in to the room, she found a little London I was hitting the youngsters on the head with a shovel. The Middy concluded: "Evidently, a budding Hitler.”

Not everyone succumbed to the "wartime spirit“ that the paper had already commented on. While tales abounded of the generous sharing of homes with strangers, the owner of one of the largest homes in Hassocks refused to take in anybody – "until some gentle persuasion from the police was brought to bear. A mother and child are now staying where there is ample room for at least another dozen.”

The Middy continued to publish throughout the war years. From the outset it noted: "Mid Sussex has quickly become reconciled to the sudden transition from summertime serenity to grim preparedness. "