I was most interested in Adam Trimingham's article (The Argus, January 25) under the heading "Heavy raids on Brighton" and wondered whether the Salvation Army's involvement in these incidents is generally known.

At the commencement of the Second World War, I was a teenager at Brighton Congress Hall and the commanding officer of that day, Major Edward Nicholson, secured a former tram-o-car (a small, single-deck, battery-operated bus) from Worthing Corporation.

This he converted into a make-shift canteen. Prior to this, he had used his own car for the purpose, placing a large tea urn in the boot.

A rota was drawn up of the fit and able and if it was your night on duty and the sirens sounded, you got yourself out of bed, threw on some clothes and raced down to the Congress Hall - through the blackout.

There, having been loaded with tea and sandwiches, you would set off towards the place where the bombs had been dropped to supply refreshments to the emergency services and comfort to the injured. I attended many such night-time incidents.

The tram-o-car, which had trundled around Worthing in the early Thirties, although quite capable of negotiating the comparatively flat streets of that town, had some difficulty in climbing the steep hills of Brighton. I recall it once overheated and stalled halfway up Freshfield Road.

I spent my last night in "civvy street", before enlisting in the RAF, helping at the Preston Village raid in March 1941. I carried the horror and carnage of that scene with me for a long time.

In 1940, at the time of Dunkirk, the Salvation Army provided night-time helpers at Brighton station as trainloads of dispirited British Expeditionary Force men arrived for a brief stop-over. We distributed tea, cigarettes and chocolate (and probably sandwiches, too).

On one occasion, about 50 of us were waiting in the Congress Hall for a week-night praise meeting (very popular in pre-TV days) to commence. There was no sign of Major Nicholson.

Eventually, he arrived, clad in gum-boots and a very dishevelled and dirty uniform. He had crawled through the rubble of the Franklin Arms, in Lewes Road, to comfort and help a woman who was trapped under the debris.

A few minutes later, after a quick wash and change of uniform, he was back in the hall, concertina at the ready, to lead the congregation in praise.

In 1942, when he left the district for another appointment, Major Nicholson was honoured by the town council for his "services to the community".

A great man indeed.

-Cyril E W Wood, Shoreham-by-Sea