Lucky indeed to have been convent educated

This view with the front gardens and looking towards Church Hill is replaced today by The Cloisters. Note the trees on the right.

This was also a boarding school for more senior girls, some of them coming from France.

Meeching Place the manor house of George Elphick, had previously occupied the site. It was sold on September 29, 1865 to Caroline Catt, daughter of the famous miller William Catt of Tidemills. On her demise ownership passed to a French order of nuns on July 14, 1896.

Earlier photos of the same view of today's picture show the frontage of a large house nearest to Church Hill, giving the impression that this was the manor house and was later replaced by the block there today.

The gardens featured here appear in some family snaps for my half-sister Gladys, as a little girl, had the distinction of presenting a bouquet to the Duchess of Norfolk when she visited the convent in the early 1930's.

The last building at the very top of Meeching Rise was the laundry/dairy. Neils Close was then The Convent Field sporting at least one cow. In fact, there are pictures of hay-making seen from the rear of Saxon Road. There was the Nuns Walk, there were tennis courts on land adjoining in First Avenue and then, of course, the delightful chapel, now a home for Newhaven's art.

The German Air Force visited the area on October 28, 1940, resulting in the death of a nun and others injured. The order moved to Billingshurst and only a few years ago the whole concern closed down.

To have been educated at Newhaven's Convent was a mark of good fortune indeed.

The night of November 26, 1924 experienced some very stormy weather, but as was usual, if possible, the ferry service would continue. After all, we had the letter mail contract and it was important that it got through.

Most was shipped on the night run as was happening on this night in question.

The Newhaven steamer Dieppe had fought her way across and all aboard must have been congratulating themselves that the ordeal was nearly over as the vessel approached the seaward end of the Breakwater. Soon it would be calm.

Those responsible aboard would have known only too well of the surge of the seas around the end of that breakwater, restricted seas, suddenly released and easily capable of swinging a small steamer off-course. By 3.30am the following morning this certainly happened.

The Dieppe finished up in the bight with her stern towards the sand beach steps and her bow pointing out to sea.

These days we are used to seeing lots of lights around our vessels, but in those times it would have been dark and scaringly foreboding.

Our victim had been equipped with radio in 1913 and now suddenly the Morse key would have been most active as her distress was conveyed to the harbour authorities.

Hurriedly, the crews of the Lifeboat Sir Fitzroy Clayton and the two harbour tugs, Alert and Richmere, were called from their beds and rushed into action.

The Alert was of about the same depth as the casualty so it was better she kept to seaward and let the little Richmere transport the tow hawser to connect the two vessels.

Sadly, in the terrible confusion the hawser got around the propeller of the little tug and she was put out of commission.

This was really serious as she was smashed against the vertical wall near the concrete steps.

The Lifeboat was seriously damaged; in the rescue of the tug crew, the coxswain received an award for bravery.

The Dieppe made harbour at 8.10am and was sold in 1933 to become a luxury yacht for Lord Moyne of the Guinness family. She was lost on service in World War Two.