The press releases issued in Germany were greeted enthusiastically. The Gothas had picked up the baton dropped by the Zeppelins and were now effectively carrying the war to the pulsing heart of the British Empire, to ‘Fortress London’.
The objective was the bombardment of docks, wharves, railway establishments, Government stores and warehouses situated in the centre of the town on the banks of the Thames.
Numerous fires broke out and were well nourished by the stores of goods.
The squadron remained over the points of attack more than a quarter of an hour, and, notwithstanding British anti-aircraft measures, all our aeroplanes returned undamaged.1
The result of Brandenburg’s attack delighted the Kaiser who summoned the commander of Kagohl 3 to Supreme Headquarters at Kreuznach. Brandenburg left Gontrode the day after the raid, flying in a two-seater Albatros piloted by Oberleutnant Hans-Ulrich von Trotha. At Kreuznach, Brandenburg received the Pour le Mérite, Germany’s highest military order, known informally as the Blauer Max (Blue Max). Brandenburg and von Trotha set out to return to Belgium on the morning of 19 June, but a few minutes into the flight the engine failed and their aeroplane crashed. Von Trotha died and Brandenburg suffered such serious injury to a leg that it required amputation. It would be many months before he could return to command his squadron. The men of Kagohl 3 were devastated, their commander, the man who had created the squadron now removed at the moment of triumph. Fearful of losing the impetus, von Hoeppner urgently sought a replacement.
***
Back in London a feeling of outrage simmered everywhere; German aircraft had appeared over the capital in the middle of the day without an apparent effective response. Many demanded reprisals against German towns, a feeling echoed in the Press and in parliament. The fact that London had no public air raid warning system also provoked debate.
The War Cabinet met on the afternoon of the raid and again the following day, during which time a proposal for a significant increase in the RFC, almost doubling its size, passed, receiving final approval on 2 July – but that was long-term. Reprisals were also discussed and these were referred to Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, commanding the British Army on the Western Front, and Major General Hugh Trenchard, commanding the RFC in the field, who were both in London on 17 June on other business. As to the question of reprisals they made an unequivocal response.
Reprisals on open towns are repugnant to British ideas, but we may be forced to adopt them. It would be worse than useless to do so, however, unless we are determined that, once adopted, they will be carried through to the end. The enemy would almost certainly reply ‘in kind’ and unless we are determined and prepared to go one better than the Germans, whatever they may do and whether their reply is in the air, or against our prisoners, or otherwise, it will be infinitely better not to attempt reprisals at all.2
Haig ended any further discussions on the subject by adding that the RFC ‘had no aeroplanes to spare for such an operation’.
The meeting did, however, agree to the temporary detachment of two RFC squadrons to undertake fighting patrols on both sides of the English Channel. No. 56 Squadron, equipped with the SE5, relocated two flights to Bekesbourne in Kent and one to Rochford in Essex, and No. 66 Squadron, with their Sopwith Pups, moved to the French coast near Calais. But the agreement came with an important proviso; both squadrons were to resume their duties on the Western Front by 6 July. No. 56 Squadron arrived in England on 21 June. Cecil Lewis, one of the pilots, could not believe his good fortune.
Agitation in the press! Scandalous neglect of the defence of dear old England! Panic among the politicians! Lloyd George acting quickly! Result: a crack squadron to be recalled for the defence of London immediately. And twelve elated pilots of 56 Squadron packing a week’s kit into our cockpits. God bless the good old Gotha!3
On the day No. 56 Squadron arrived in England, Lieutenant Colonel Simon submitted a plan for increased gun protection on the eastern approaches to London, designed to ‘greet the enemy with a shower of shell bursts’. His plan required 45 additional guns but again the response informed him there were none to spare.4
Also on 21 June, a meeting took place between the Home Secretary, George Cave, and the mayors of the London boroughs to discuss public air raid warnings for the capital. With the Gothas flying faster than Zeppelins, the warning system introduced between February and May 1916 was found wanting. The meeting concluded that warnings were needed but the War Cabinet rejected the idea. The government maintained its belief that the public, advised of an imminent raid, would congregate in the streets, risking their own safety and hindering the emergency services. Additionally, concerns were raised that if no raid materialised following a warning, people may ignore future alerts, and the risk of disruption to work shifts also seemed likely; evidence showed that workers who dispersed due to raid alerts often did not return when the threat had passed. There would be no public air raid warnings for London – for now.
***
In Germany, while Britain concerned itself with what to do next, Peter Strasser, the naval Führer der Luftschiffe, must have felt personal frustration at the success of the army’s Gothas over London. He had other concerns to deal with too. On 23 May, Zeppelin L 40 had survived an encounter with the new British threat over the North Sea, the H-12 ‘Large America’ flying boat. The commander had not recognised his attacker as a new unknown long-range aeroplane and presumed his attacker to be a floatplane deployed from a seaplane carrier.
On 5 June, the day of the Gotha raid on Shoeburyness and Sheerness, L 40 again encountered the same H-12 and crew off the island of Terschelling. Although L 40 escaped this time too, her commander, Erich Sommerfeldt, again failed to recognise a new threat. He reported his assailant as ‘a biplane resembling a Nieuport’, but after an extensive search he could not find the ship that he erroneously believed must have brought his attacker so far out in the North Sea.5
Nine days later, on 14 June, the day after the Gotha raid on London, five Zeppelins were patrolling the North Sea. The RNAS crew that had attacked L 40, now flying H-12 No. 8660, discovered L 46 about 45 miles north-east of Great Yarmouth and attacked without success, but the Zeppelin’s commander, Kapitänleutnant Heinrich Hollender, noted his assailant as an ‘English seaplane, biplane’. By the time they had broken off the fight, another Zeppelin had crashed into the sea. H-12 No. 8677 from Felixstowe located Zeppelin L 43 near the Dutch island of Vlieland. After a short engagement, explosive and incendiary bullets fired from the flying boat saw the Zeppelin engulfed in flames before the wreckage smashed into the sea, trailing a great cloud of black smoke.6 Kapitänleutnant Hermann Kraushaar and his crew were killed.
The loss of L 43 did nothing to improve Strasser’s mood, but with the new moon due on 19 June and a period of good weather forecast, he ordered ‘attack in south, London’. The decision seems odd; in the past Strasser had avoided raiding during the shortest of June’s summer nights.7 It seems a huge risk; did he hope to demonstrate to the Army that the Navy Zeppelins still offered a threat to match the Gothas? This time he did not accompany the raid, instead his deputy, and nominal head of the Naval Airship Division, Viktor Schütze, would join L 48 on its first raid. Schütze would be among friends – the crew had served under him on L 11 and briefly on L 36 before his promotion.
Six Zeppelins set out on 16 June but things did not start well. Strong crosswinds at Ahlhorn prevented L 46 and L 47 from leaving their sheds and engine failures over the North Sea forced both L 44 and L 45 to turn back. Just two, L 42 and L 48, remained on course for England. Strasser also had to face an unconnected setback. A couple of hours after the Zeppelins departed, L 40, which had survived the recent close encounters with the H-12 flying boats, ran into difficulties returning from a scouting flight and crash-landed near Nordholz. The extensive damage inflicted resulted in L 40 being written off.
17 June 1917, 2.10am: Ramsgate
With Kapitänleutnant Martin Dietrich in command, L 42 held out to sea off the north Kent coast for some hours as the summer sky only became completely dark around 11.30pm. He then had just 3 hours before it would begin to lighten again. Battling against the wind, Dietrich decided to attack Dover first then, hopefully, continue to London. Struggling with navigation, however, instead of Dover, he attacked Ramsgate.
At about 2.10am, L 42 approached the harbour dropping the first two bombs in the sea as searchlights flickered into action, but they struggled to hold the great bulk of the Zeppelin’s black-painted envelope in their beams. The third bomb, however, a huge 300kg monster, reaped dividends. It exploded squarely on the Fish Market, a range of buildings situated on the harbour’s Crosswall, which had recently been converted into a naval magazine. Stored inside were artillery shells, machine gun and rifle ammunition, depth charges and a couple of recovered German mines. When the bomb hit, all hell broke loose: ‘A sheet of blood-red flame shot upwards and for hours ammunition of all kinds continued to explode with a tornado of fury.’8 Ernest Cockburn, a Ramsgate resident, awoken by the noise of the first bombs detonating at sea, pondered the cause as he lay in bed.
I was just wondering whether it was the monitor9 practising or the ‘real thing’ when I saw the windows lit up by star shell or searchlight. Heard a loud shrieking as of a shell or aerial torpedo, a terrific explosion and the glass of my bedroom window tinkled out onto the bow window below. I decided that it was the ‘real thing’.10
With the continuous roar of explosions filling the air, Cockburn initially concluded that a naval battle had commenced outside the harbour. Dietrich, from his lofty viewpoint about 3.5 miles above the town, had a better grasp of the situation.
With the bursting of a 300kg bomb a gigantic explosion took place, which caused further explosions at intervals of ten minutes, until the whole district, apparently a munitions store, was completely in flames.11
The great danger encountered by those who attended the conflagration resulted in 29 firemen from the brigades of Ramsgate, Margate and Broadstairs receiving the British Empire Medal for their work that night.12
Coming inland, L 42 laid a bloody trail. Two bombs exploding in Albert Street obliterated four homes leaving a scene of utter desolation. ‘A [bomb] fell at the back of our house,’ an eyewitness reported, ‘I distinctly saw it and heard it hissing through the air… It was terrible to hear the screams, for in a dozen different houses, families were imprisoned, and were crying for help.’13 Incredibly only three people – neighbours – were killed. For three hours police and soldiers pulled away at the debris from where they could hear a woman’s voice: ‘Finally they found her [Mrs Thouless] beneath eight feet of debris. Beside her was the dead body of her husband [Benjamin]. They had been standing together when the bombs fell.’14 Mrs Thouless recovered from her trauma in hospital.
Next door lived Jonathan Hamlin, his wife Eliza and Hamlin’s brother. The brother escaped with slight injuries, but not the married couple. Already dead, Jonathan’s ‘mangled body rested in the ruins’, but Eliza still lived.
[A police officer] could see the head and shoulders of Mrs Hamlin sticking out above the rafters and brickwork of the roof. Her face was saturated with blood, upon which the dust had settled, and it was impossible to recognize her. She was conscious and was crying piteously for her husband. Several tons of rubbish had to be shifted before she could be released.15
Although freed from the wreckage, Eliza Hamlin died in hospital of her terrible injuries.
The same two bombs also damaged homes and shops in Ivy Lane and Addington Street, but everyone there escaped injury.
L 42 continued dropping bombs. Damage occurred in Crescent Road and at Southwood House and Nether Court, where a VAD hospital cared for wounded soldiers, but no more lives were lost. Dietrich then neared the RNAS air station at Manston where flares were burning as three aeroplanes had flown from there. L 42, now flying at 19,400ft had little chance of achieving accuracy with her bombs. Three explosive and two incendiary bombs fell in fields about half a mile east of the airfield resulting in just a few broken windows. All the time anti-aircraft guns had kept up a steady fire, joined by the monitor, HMS Marshal Ney, in the harbour. L 42 remained overland for 14 minutes before Dietrich wisely decided against making a push for London and commenced the homeward journey.
Ramsgate ‘presented an extraordinary picture of devastation and debris’.
Nearly 700 houses had been damaged – over 40 tons of splintered glass were collected and the material damage amounted at least to £60,00016 – three people were killed and 16 injured.17
17 June 1917, 3.28am: Theberton, Suffolk
The other Zeppelin to come inland, L 48 commanded by Kapitänleutnant der Reserve Franz Eichler, had Schütze on board. First located about 40 miles north-east of Harwich at 11.40pm, her movements appeared puzzling and not until after 2.00am did she finally came inland south of Orfordness (see map, p.xv). But trackers were unaware that L 48 had experienced problems with two of her engines and the liquid compass had frozen making navigation difficult. With one engine now restored, but having lost much time, Eichler agreed with Schütze to target Harwich instead of London. Their manoeuvrings for the next 30 minutes were erratic but at 2.42am, when north-east of Harwich, she came under fire from anti-aircraft guns, joined by ships in Harwich harbour and minesweepers moored off Bawdsey. Although reports suggest the guns were firing short, the sheer volume of fire from the land-based guns (434 rounds) appears to have deterred L 48. She turned about, dropping 24 bombs which the crew believed hit Harwich but they landed around the villages of Falkenham, Kirton and Waldringfield with limited result.
L 48 moved away slowly at first but gradually picked up speed as the sky began to lighten. Without her compass, however, L 48 headed north, rather than east towards the sea, before the forward engine failed and her speed dropped again. Following a request for radio bearings, Eichler received advice of a tailwind blowing at 11,000ft and reduced his height to take advantage of it. A lightening sky and descending to an altitude easily within range of all Home Defence aircraft made L 48 incredibly vulnerable.
Among those searching for the intruder were a Canadian-born officer, Lieutenant Loudon Watkins of No. 37 Squadron, who took off in a BE12 from Goldhanger, and two aeroplanes from the RFC’s Experimental Station at Orfordness, an FE2b flown by Lieutenant Frank Holder, with Sergeant Sydney Ashby as his gunner, and a DH2 flown by Captain Robert Saundby.
Despite the early hour, many local people, awoken by the gunfire, scanned the sky for the hunted Zeppelin.
There were no stars, no clouds, only a rosy flush in the east heralding the breaking through of the sun… it was seen that she was in difficulties. She veered clumsily from one side to the other, suggesting she had been hit by the coast guns. All the time she was relentlessly pursued by aeroplanes, and her demeanour for several minutes… was of a trapped animal searching vainly for some way of escape.18
L 48 had travelled north for about 20 miles since dropping her bombs. Although there is no evidence that she had been hit by gunfire, many observers reported that she appeared to be struggling. All three pilots first spotted L 48 near Harwich and now began to close in.
Lieutenant Watkins, flying at 11,000ft, first saw the Zeppelin about 2,000ft higher. As he narrowed the distance he continued to climb, firing two drums at long range without result. He then waited before firing a third, as his matter-of-fact report concluded.
I then climbed steadily until I reached 13,200ft and was then about 500ft under the Zeppelin. I fired three short bursts of about 7 rounds and then the remainder of the drum; the Zepp burst into flames at the tail, the fire running along both sides, the whole Zepp caught fire and fell burning.19
Holder and Ashby in the FE2b were flying at 14,200ft but Holder estimated they were still about 2,000ft below the raider. Both the pilot and observer opened fire but Holder’s machine gun jammed and Ashby failed to clear it. They edged up another 300ft, estimating L 48 to be travelling at 50mph and losing height. Ashby continued to fire when the opportunity presented itself.
About five miles beyond Leiston, the observer fired about 30 rounds at about 300 yds range. I turned for the observer to correct a stoppage, and to avoid fire, which was opened on the FE, and looking round observed the H.A. [Hostile Aircraft] in flames.20
Saundby, in the DH2, had also joined the pursuit.
Followed him and climbed up under his tail firing three drums of Pomeroy and tracer bullets at rapidly shortening ranges. The H.A. was by this time losing height and I was climbing… I saw another machine higher than myself… firing bursts of tracer bullets. In the middle of my third drum the H.A. caught fire at one point and immediately became a mass of flame.21
Although all three aircraft had a claim in shooting down L 48, after some consideration the RFC awarded the honour to Lieutenant Watkins of No. 37 Squadron. It has been suggested that the War Office preferred recognition to go to a regular Home Defence pilot rather than the parttime defenders from an experimental squadron.22
Whoever had fired the fatal shots, they had sealed L 48’s fate. Many watched her final moments in awe.
The next moment the airship put on her lights – as one observer expressed it. But they were the lights of death. At first there was the glow as of a lighted cigar when it is fanned by a breeze. The glow increased apace, and soon the entire envelope of the airship was illumined. The red gleam gave place to tongues of flame, which assumed fantastic shapes as they shot upwards, lightening up the sky like a blast furnace.23
The official report stated that the L 48 descended more slowly than previous airships, ‘the fall taking from 3 to 5 minutes’. Newspapers described the moment the Zeppelin hit the ground.
She… drifted down into a field about four miles from [Saxmundham] settling on her tail. About three-quarters of the vessel was completely telescoped, leaving the framework of the fore-end standing virtually intact. Like the half of a huge egg at an angle of ninety degrees, the extreme point of the nose being fifty feet in the air, with strips of shrivelled envelope hanging to it. Some of the crew had apparently jumped clear just before she struck the ground. A number of bodies were found scattered about the vicinity.24
After a seemingly senseless order for an airship attack on Britain so close to the shortest night of the year, and a decision to descend to a height within reach of British aeroplanes, L 48, the latest Zeppelin to be built to the new specifications, had survived just 25 days in the naval service. And among the wreckage lay the remains of Strasser’s most determined and experienced deputy, Viktor Schütze, as well as that of Franz Eichler, the commander of L 48, and 14 members of the crew. Although the airship smashed into the ground at 3.38am, in no time people appeared in the field on Holly Tree Farm at Theberton, Suffolk, to see the crumpled wreckage.
The onlookers had the unpleasant experience of watching the cremation of the wretched Germans, an uncanny spectacle at any time, and especially so in that lonely spot, amidst the mist of dawn.25
Another uncanny spectacle then emerged from the mist – a man staggered from the burning wreckage. Heinrich Ellerkamm, an engine mechanic stationed in a starboard midships engine gondola, had climbed up into the body of the airship to check on the fuel supply for his engine when bullets struck the gas bags: ‘There was an explosion – not loud, but a dull “woof” as when you light a gas stove.’26 Horrified, Ellerkamm froze.
Suddenly I saw tiny blue flames appear in the fifth and sixth bags aft. Oh, Lord! The very next moment came the roar of a mighty explosion, and a couple of seconds afterwards the L 48 was one mass of flames. It was all up with us… I sensed that the ship was beginning to drop.27
Ellerkamm wedged himself against a girder and bracing wire to stop himself falling down through the ship, beating out flames that began to catch his fur overcoat. Fortunately for him the draught forced the flames away from where he clung on for dear life as the airship plummeted down.
One thinks a lot in moments like that – silly things perhaps, but they are all about the bright side of life. I was expecting a fortnight’s leave, and Gretel, my fiancée, was waiting to see me. And I was to die here?
… Suddenly the ship’s stern crashed to pieces with a fearful din. I did not know what was going to happen next; I only knew that a chaotic jumble of girders, bracing wires, benzine tanks and car fittings were coming down on my head, and that above me a sea of flames was collapsing.
‘Now keep your head,’ I thought, … The shock of the crash must have torn some of my muscles and taken the wind out of my body… But, good Lord! You’re still alive! You’re still alive, man!
With flames all around him and imprisoned within the Zeppelin’s glowing red-hot girders, the mechanic made a desperate bid for life.
With the strength that such a moment of despair gives one – I pushed against a girder. Another girder gave way in front of me and left a gap free. I crawled along the ground and felt grass; I crept forward. Behind me was a mass of burning oil. I rolled over two or three times in the grass.
Then I found myself in the open air… I collapsed exhausted. I can still see the meadow, with horses and a wild duck flying overhead in the dawn… I saw the horses galloping away madly, scared by the flames of the L 48.
Then an Englishman came running across the field, wearing only a shirt and trousers. He stared at me as if I had dropped from another world. ‘You are from the Zeppelin?’ he asked.
The man, Chief Petty Officer F.W. Bird, home on leave from the Royal Navy, had run from the village of Eastbridge, about half a mile away. Much to his surprise, Bird found the dazed German wandering around the field.
He appeared to be totally unhurt and I beckoned him towards me as I ran. He looked very confused and helpless, and, could not or would not speak English. By signs I asked him for any papers he might be carrying, and, not reassured by his actions, I made him put his hands above his head and then searched him. He had a purse containing various coins, some of them English, a railway ticket and a knife. The latter I took from him.28
Incredibly, there were other survivors. Those first on the scene pulled the badly burnt and terribly injured Wilhelm Unger, another mechanic, from the wreckage of an engine gondola. He remained a hospital patient for the rest of the war and, poignantly, died on Armistice Day 1918. However, another man did survive, L 48’s executive officer, Leutnantzur-See Otto Mieth. Mieth lost consciousness during the descent, but the shock of the crash woke him. Surrounded by a sea of flames and red-hot metal girders, he lost consciousness for a second time. When he came round next he found himself lying on a stretcher.
I half raised myself painfully, and saw that my legs were in thick, bloody bandages. I could hardly move them, for they were broken. Then I made a new discovery: my head and legs were covered with burns; my hands were lacerated; when I breathed I felt as if a knife were thrust into me.
I thought to myself, ‘Am I dreaming or awake?’ Just then a human voice interrupted my groping thoughts: ‘Do you want a cigarette?’ and a Tommy stuck a cigarette-case under my nose with a friendly grin. So it was no dream. I was a prisoner.29
All three survivors had been in the forward half of L 48, which fell on its stern, the rear half absorbing much of the shock of the crash. On no other occasion did members of a crew survive the fall of an airship shot down in flames over Britain.
When L 48 began to burn, Martin Dietrich in L 42 was about 20 miles off the Suffolk coast making his way home. He clearly saw the fireball and through binoculars caught glimpses of aeroplanes in the glare. He radioed the shocking news back to Germany. Strasser, out on the landing field at Nordholz, waited impatiently for L 42’s return. He immediately climbed aboard and demanded details of what Dietrich had witnessed – that aeroplanes had shot down L 48, the latest of the ‘height-climber’ Zeppelins. Dietrich later confided that initially Strasser would not believe him and insisted: ‘The English have no real defence against our airships!’ Dietrich, however, knew what he had seen. ‘But it was a plane,’ he maintained, ‘I saw it myself.’ Dejected and depressed by the news, Strasser remained isolated for a while but then his spirits lifted, as they always did, and he wrote a letter to Admiral Reinhard Scheer, commander of the High Seas Fleet and Strasser’s direct superior, adding a fresh spin to the situation.
The deliberate minimizing of the effects of the attacks by the English press in my opinion is designed, in conjunction with our losses, to cause us to be doubtful of their success.
If the English should succeed in convincing us that airship attacks had little value and thereby cause us to give them up, they would be rid of a severe problem and would be laughing at us in triumph behind our backs.30
Despite the loss of his latest Zeppelin and his able deputy, Viktor Schütze, Strasser had no intention of limiting Zeppelin attacks on Britain, but it would be August before they returned. In the meantime, there were high-level changes within Kagohl 3.
***
Following the serious injury to Ernst Brandenburg, von Hoeppner selected 30-year-old Hauptmann Rudolf Kleine, currently serving as Gruppenführer der Flieger 1 at Army Corps Headquarters, Reims, as his replacement. Previously a flight commander with Kagohl 1, Kleine, although also recovering from a wound, joined Kagohl 3 in late June.
Since the London raid, bad weather had prevented any further activity. Around this time, Leutnant Walter Georgii replaced Cloessner as Kagohl 3’s meteorological officer. The relationship between the squadron commander and weather officer remained an important one.
As the new commander, Kleine wanted to make his mark but the conditions continued to hinder operations. Keeping a watchful eye on the weather patterns, Leutnant Georgii noted an opportunity on 4 July, but a threat of thunderstorms later in the day meant a raid on London could be dismissed. An early start, however, and an attack on a coastal target would be practical. Kleine chose the twin targets of Harwich and Felixstowe, where the rivers Stour and Orwell meet and exit into the North Sea. Both were home to important naval installations.
4 July 1917, 7.10am: Felixstowe and Harwich
Early on the morning of 4 July the airfields at Gontrode and Sint-Denijs-Westrem reverberated to the roar of 50 Mercedes engines as 25 Gothas took to the air. Kleine planned a course that took the Englandgeschwader beyond the prying eyes of the Dunkirk squadrons and away from the observant lightship crews. But before long some of those engines developed problems and seven of the force turned back.
At 6.50am, 9 miles north of Harwich, a two-seater DH4 of the RFC Testing Squadron left Martlesham Heath on an endurance test. On board were pilot Captain John Palethorpe with Air Mechanic Jessop as observer/gunner. After about 15 minutes, much to their surprise, the crew saw the widely spread Gotha formation flying at 14,000ft and crossing the Suffolk coast near the hamlet of Shingle Street. Undaunted, and at odds of 18 to 1, Palethorpe, unwisely headed for the centre of the group whereupon his forward firing machine gun jammed and although Jessop’s rear gun fired about 100 rounds, a significant number of Kagohl 3’s gunners returned fire and one bullet pierced Jessops’ heart, killing him instantly. Unfazed, Palethorpe returned to Martlesham, picked up another observer and returned to action, but by then the Gothas had gone. His ‘great courage and determination’, earned him the Military Cross, with Jessop’s ‘gallant and distinguished’ service marked with a posthumous mention in despatches.
Over Ramsholt on the River Deben, Kagohl 3 divided into two sections, one heading for Felixstowe and the other towards Shotley and Harwich harbour. The first of the Harwich Garrison guns opened fire at 7.10am but clouds made observation difficult as the sections broke up. The attack shocked local people.
The strange noise and the dropping of the bombs signalised the arrival of the raiders… It was sudden and surprising, for there had been no warning. The [Gothas] had come hidden by the clouds and in a stiff north-easterly breeze. The clouds skidded across the sky, and at intervals the German flyers could be seen between them. Bombs fell in quick succession.31
The section heading for Felixstowe dropped a couple of 12kg bombs on Trimley Marshes amid a flock of pedigree sheep, killing 21 immediately with 29 others having to be slaughtered due to their injuries. The farmer estimated his loss at £1,000. Seven more bombs also fell in the area but only broke a few windows. In Felixstowe three bombs exploded near the railway station with little impact, but two in Mill Lane struck a detachment of soldiers from the 3rd (Reserve) Battalion, Suffolk Regiment. Although taking cover behind an earth bank, the bombs killed three of the men, fatally injured two more and wounded 10 others. South of the town 11 bombs buried themselves in waste land, two more landed just to the north of Felixstowe Dock and another four detonated near the Beach railway station but without causing damage. The impact of the final two bombs, however, proved costly in terms of life and materiel. They struck the RNAS air station incinerating one of the new H-12 flying boats, and killing six RNAS personnel and three civilian workmen. Another 18 servicemen suffered injury as did a civilian. Turning back out to sea, five bombs fell in the water off the Spa Pavilion.
The other section of Kagohl 3 approached Harwich over Shotley, home to the land-based Royal Navy Training Establishment, HMS Ganges. About 200 boys were undergoing physical training on the parade ground, among then 16-year-old Archibald Filmer.
We were about half-way through the first exercise when we are startled to hear aeroplane engines, and, looking skyward, see many aeroplanes coming towards us… ‘All right, lads’, yells the P.T.I. ‘They’re only some of our boys on manoeuvres.’ We carry on.
Two minutes later – Boom! – the first bomb drops from ‘our boys’… ‘Scatter for your lives and lie flat!’ the P.T.I. shouts. So we scatter, in every direction, so as not to make a target for the enemy, and lie on our backs looking up at the fleet, yet fearing every minute that a bomb will drop on us.32
These bombs only broke windows and dug a crater in the parade ground, but more were falling. The RNAS had a kite balloon station near Shotley Gate. On hearing explosions, the men were ordered to scatter as four bombs exploded close by shattering windows, but the blast also claimed the lives of three servicemen. Another 15 bombs then splashed down in Harwich harbour without doing any damage. In response three light cruisers, Canterbury, Concord and Conquest, fired 31 rounds, added to the 135 fired by the seven guns of the Harwich Garrison, all without success. In Harwich a bomb landed outside the church of St Nicholas but failed to detonate, and two that dropped on Dovercourt inflicted only minor damage while filling the air with, ‘a blue-black and very evil-smelling smoke’. The last three bombs fell offshore in the mud. The bombers had gone ‘in less time than it takes to have a cup of tea’, a special constable recalled. Although quick, the raid claimed the lives of 17 men, injured 29 more, destroyed a flying boat and decimated a flock of sheep.
The Gothas were gone by 7.25am. Frustratingly, the RFC only received the ‘Readiness’ order at 7.24am, with the squadrons receiving the ‘Patrol’ order between 7.26 and 7.35am. With all credit, three of No. 37 Squadron’s Sopwith Pups from Stow Maries were airborne within three minutes of receiving the order to ascend, but still too late to catch the retreating raiders. The first RNAS aircraft were up a minute later from Covehithe, 30 miles to the north-east of Felixstowe. No. 56 Squadron, brought over from the Western Front for just such a moment, flew 21 sorties but, like everyone else, received their orders too late. And due to an oversight, the other squadron withdrawn from front line duty and relocated to Calais, No. 66, did not receive the ‘Patrol’ order in time to engage the returning aircraft. A flight of Sopwith Camels from No. 4 (Naval) Squadron at Dunkirk attempted to intercept Kagohl 3 but, following some inconclusive engagements, all Gothas returned safely to their airfields.
For the men of No. 56 Squadron their 15-day sojourn in England neared the end. They had enjoyed themselves immensely as pilot Cecil Lewis, based at Bekesbourne, confided.
A large marquee was run up as a mess. The Major scrounged some planking, and very soon there was a regular Savoy dancing floor. Visits were paid to Canterbury to enrol the fair sex. Those lightning two or three day acquaintanceships began to ripen… The squadron stood by, gloriously idle. It was a grand war.33
The only interruption to this welcome posting being the fruitless patrol on 4 July. The following morning the squadron prepared to return to France. No sooner had they departed than London found itself once more on the front line.