Pax During War Time …

My ordination as a Deacon was fixed for September 23rd, 1939 but there was more than one area of uncertainty as the Bishop of Oxford had suffered a breakdown in health.

On the first Sunday in September I was to conduct Matins at a small village in the heart of the South Downs. When I got there I found a note pinned on the door saying that in view of the Prime Minister’s speech the service would begin late. I went to the house of one of the churchwardens who was a retired admiral and listened to the very depressing news that we were at war with Germany. The admiral was in a high state of excitement rubbing his hands together and longing to get at the enemy.

We went over to the church and began the service, but while we were singing the Te Deum an extraordinary figure in a tin hat and gas mask appeared at the door and loudly blew a whistle shouting “Air Raid Warning Red”. It was what we had all been expecting and panic was complete. The man pumping the organ stopped at once and the music ended in a whimper while the whole congregation shot off to shelters or air-raid stations. No one thought to enquire where I was to shelter and I remained alone in the church, writing in the register: “Service abandoned owing to air-raid warning”, which I thought might fascinate future generations if we survived. Everything was looking particularly peaceful as I drove back to college but I think we all sensed that things would never be the same again.

There had been a fever of activity for the protection of our country and people started constructing road blocks made of tree trunks with a bicycle tire on the end so that they could be quickly put into position and supposedly stop a tank, which even at the time I thought a little ridiculous.

As no one knew what was likely to happen it was decided that I should go off to Oxford at once and settle into the parish, which was being flooded with children evacuated from London. As in the gospel precept, I did not turn back to say farewell to father or mother, but packed my bags and left Chichester with a heavy heart.

The weather was perfect as if to make the disruption of ordinary life more agonising and as I drove to Oxford I thought that I had never seen the countryside looking more lovely and tranquil. It was hard to realise that we were preparing to fight a war.

Taken from Merrily On High by Fr Colin Stephenson.