ohe picture in the Looking Back column (The Argus, July 15) of the Whitehawk Road bombing took my mind back to that Monday morning in July, 1940, when I was just a lad of 18.

I had left Mr Jones's dairy in Edward Street and was pushing my carrier bike loaded with milk towards Eastern Road when, from the distant west, I heard the drone of an aircraft approaching.

I was riding my bike towards Brighton College when the plane passed overhead.

Within seconds, I heard the scream of falling bombs, followed by terrific explosions.

There was not a soul in sight so I kept pedalling to begin my round on the Manor Farm estate - only to find the destruction caused by the bombs.

My very first customer in Whitehawk Road had had the front of their house blown in.

If I had been there a few minutes earlier, I would have gone with it.

It was not long before bombing cost me my job. I was on fire watch duty around 8pm on September 18 when a plane approaching from the Race Hill direction released bombs which exploded in the Edward Street area. When I arrived at work at 5.30am the following morning, I found White Street, just behind the dairy, had been bombed.

My governor and his wife were packing everything away and returning to Wales with their two children.

Milkmen never had days off and I never had holidays, only working for a small dairy.

But those three-and-a-half years of constant work, which I loved, were ended by this bombing.

-Frank Edwards, Brighton