It was a cold hazy morning. We were singing our morning hymn in Cholmley School on Church Street when there was a shattering noise like the loudest thunder. It seemed to rock the school.

Mrs Ward left the piano and climbed into the bay window which overlooked the harbour.

“I can’t see anything Miss Parratt,” she said to our Headmistress.

The terrible explosions continued. We were filed out of the school. I wanted to go into the infants’ room for my little cousin, Nora, who I had taken in that morning, but when I looked in the room was empty, the little ones had been let out first. I learned afterwards that Uncle Jack had taken Nora home under his coat!

“Your mother is outside,” said Mrs Ward as she passed me.

It was surprising how many parents were already at the school door. People were surging down the street, some were carrying invalids. The noise was terrifying. I wanted to go with the rest of the people down the street - away from the sea, but mother wanted to go back home to lock the door after getting some money, which she said we would need if we had to leave town (people were saying the Germans had landed).

We saw an old friend of mother’s being led by her daughter on the opposite pavement and mother said to me, “Go and take Mrs Holmes’ other arm.”

I did. And mother went back to our house at the foot of Church Street. She picked up some pieces of melting lead which must have fallen onto our doorstep from the shells as they went over. She was soon back with us and by now the firing had stopped. Mrs Holmes was taken to her relatives down the street.

Mother was anxious to know if my sister Nellie and her little girl (also called Nellie), who lived at New Gardens, were alright. We went up Green Lane and a Welsh Officer who was stationed at Whitby stopped his motor-bike and told mother she could go home now, the Germans had gone. She thanked him and we carried on to my sister’s. They were alright, but a bit shocked. I remember having a cup of milk and some biscuits.

On our way home mother opened aunt Hannah’s door. There was another woman and some children sitting around the table having a meal.

“Wasn’t it awful?” mother said. “They say a young coastguard has been killed.”

The other woman looked up and said, “Yes. My husband.”

Mother was shocked, and could only say, “Oh dear, God help you.”

My aunt Hannah had the coastguard’s family staying with her for about three weeks, then they went to relatives in London. All the coastguard houses were shattered and the coastguards and their families moved to the Custom House Hotel (now the Dolphin). But apparently the wife of the coastguard who had been killed, had begged my aunt to let them stay with her.