Barbara Greenshields (nee Jupp), born in 1924, kindly lent me a book, which she has written for her family, recording her memoirs. Below is a snippet from the book, about her days at South Bersted School, having moved there after living in Felpham.

'Mr Hemingfield is a very good man
He tries to teach us all he can
Reading, writing, arithmetic
He doesn't forget to use his stick
When he does it makes us dance
Out of England into France
Out of France into Spain
Over the hills and back again.

So chanted the boys (and some of the girls) when I first attended South Bersted School. Charles Hemingfield had been headmaster there since late Victorian times and would soon be retiring. I saw little of him except at morning assemblies when we had the hymn, psalm and prayers that were usual in church schools. The first lesson of the day was always Scripture and we learned the Creed, General Confession and Thanksgiving. We never went to Sunday School, however. According to Mother, Dad had stated that 'They get enough religion during the week', but I suppose we could have gone if we'd chosen to do so.

Attendance at church continued on special days. In November we took a penny to school for a poppy and went to the Remembrance Service, always held on the eleventh then. What a very long time two minutes was when you had to stand in silence, but having a half-day holiday compensated us. On Empire Day (24th May) we sang 'Land of Hope and Glory' in the front playground and were given a bun and an orange before going home, also for a half-day holiday.

'Mum, what's a thermometeranabarometer?' I asked her when I arrived home from school on the day our headmaster retired. 'We gave Mr Hemingfield one for his retirement present and a grandmother clock'. I knew what a thermometer was because we had one in our classroom and we took turns to record the temperature, but I was puzzled about the thing, which looked to me a bit like a banjo. Mother explained that it gave the temperatures and also what the weather would be like.

During the war Mr Hemingfield was widowed and in 1944 he married my friend. She was many years younger than he was and they were very happy, until Charlie died about seven years later. The clock stood in the hall and the thermometer and barometer hung on the wall. I told her of my puzzlement about it and would tell her 'My Mum paid sixpence towards that'. When she died she left it to me and now it hangs in the hall in my home.'