SMITTEN VILLAGE

Timaru Herald, Volume CLIII, Issue 22471, 5 January 1943, Page 2

SMITTEN VILLAGE

Bomb On A School “Hard To Understand’’ In a dispatch from its London office at the beginning of October the “Chicago Sun” received a story that well illustrates the tragic heroism of English village life under the Nazi mode of aerial warfare. The writer says:— "Mrs Miniver came to life here today in a tragedy that enfolded 30 families, instead of just one or two. This was impressed upon me as I watched 26 coffins being lowered into a huge, common grave of this old village at mass services for the victims of a Nazi bomb that crashed through the roof of a boys’ municipal schoolhouse. The bomb killed 31 persons, including a neighbour of the school. “Each dead child’s family moved to the rim of the mass grave as each body—all the victims were between 8 and 13—was plased in the gaping sandy pit. Behind one little coffin walked 30 relatives. Behind another a young mother walked alone. In the background bereaved mothers tried to comfort each other. “One father in the uniform of a sergeant stood on the edge of the grave and saluted stiffly as British and Canadian soldiers carried his son’s coffin. Behind another coffin stood a Royal Air Force pilot and his wife, gripping hands tightly as though someone were trying to drag them apart. “At one side stood a blind grandfather, just listening. “The bodies of Charles Stevenson. 56, headmaster of the school, and Charlotte Marshall. 28, a teacher, were placed in the centre of the grave. Their pupils were placed on each side, in rows so long that they seemed almost endless. Heroic Mothers “For 16 minutes, one coffin after another was laid to rest. Some parents swayer forward unconsciously as the coffins were lowered, almost as though they wanted to follow their children. The silence was broken only once, when a 24-year-old mother wept bitterly as she saw both of her sons buried. She recovered her composure almost at once, and then, with her husband’s arm across her shoulder, stood motionless. “We had walked the mile from the church to the cemetery along the narrow street that was lined with villagers and soldiers. In one doorway stood an aged couple, just looking. Others started from the windows as 13 Army trucks, each bearing two coffins, passed slowly. “The churchyard was strewn with flowers bearing little tags. One read: “To my playmate. Bill.” Another said: “From your pals.” A third read: “To Dicky Stoner from Granny and Granddad.” “Three hundred villagers sat in the 600-year-old parish church. Sunlight pouring through the doorway illuminated the faces of the mourners sitting in the pews. Mostly they were shopkeepers and farmhands, with work roughened hands and modest clothes. But all had chins up. “The Mrs Miniver touch was added when a- wealthy, titled lady, wife of the neighbourhood’s great landowner, swept into the church. She wore a black silk dress, a chic veil, and diamond earrings and carried a new patent leather handbag. But she attracted hardly a glance. Bishop Conducts Rites The Bishop of Chichester conducted the short, simple service. He mentioned the headmaster and the teacher, and Mrs Streeter, the school neighbour, who was killed in her laundry. “When evil is done to men on such an immense scale as in this war,” the bishop said, “it falls on the innocent as well as the guilty. These children were so young. It’s hard to understand. The value of life does not depend on its length. In God’s time you will join your children.” As the bishop spoke, a red-faced farmer pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed stealthily at his eyes, then pretended he was just wiping his glasses. With the exception of the mother whose two sons were killed, I did not hear a single sob during the entire afternoon.