“St Matthew’s is on fire.” My friend’s short phone message made my world spin. My children were in the church school. I bolted from my office near Trafalgar Square and ran into Whitehall. No buses. It seemed hours before I reached Great Peter Street.
Then, what a relief! All the children had been taken to safety in the Victorian washhouse then in St Anne’s Street. My nursery class daughter was excited – a policeman had carried her down Old Pye Street; but my infant son was left – as I was – with a respect, bordering on terror, for fire.
Then, what a relief! All the children had been taken to safety in the Victorian washhouse then in St Anne’s Street. My nursery class daughter was excited – a policeman had carried her down Old Pye Street; but my infant son was left – as I was – with a respect, bordering on terror, for fire.
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