In Belgium, Ernst von Hoeppner, the commander of the Luftstreitkräfte, wasted no time in announcing a new leader of Kagohl 3, appointing Oberleutnant Richard Walter, the squadron’s senior flight commander, as acting squadron commander the day after Kleine’s death. Hopes remained high that Ernst Brandenburg, the squadron’s original commander, would soon be able to return to duty after completing his rehabilitation following the loss of a leg in June. But for now, command of the squadron lay in Walter’s hands.
A few days later, notification reached Walter of a favourable break in the weather forecast for 18 December, but the moon cycle conspired against him. Whereas the Zeppelins favoured the dark nights of a new moon, the Gothas timed their attacks to coincide with brighter nights around the full moon. On 18 December the new moon was just four days old, but a fresh fall of snow ensured the dark winding path of the River Thames stood out starkly against the white-blanketed countryside. Because of the phase of the moon and the weather, no one in Britain anticipated a raid.
That same day also saw a reorganisation of Germany’s Kampfgeschwader. Concern over the arrival of American troops on the Western Front led to a demand for increased bombing flexibility and capacity. To achieve this, the existing Kampfgeschwader were doubled in number by reducing each from six flights to three. However, because of its specific role, Kagohl 3 remained at full strength. On 18 December, however, they were all renamed Bombengeschwader, with Kagohl 3 now identified as Bombengeschwader 3 der Obersten Heeresleitung, abbreviated to Bogohl 3.
On that day 15 Gothas set out, with two forced to turn back before reaching Britain; they were followed by a single Giant, R12, the sixengined R.IV type. For incendiary bombs, the squadron reverted to older types due to Kleine’s dissatisfaction with the new 4.5kg version used on the two previous raids.
Before the main attack developed on London, bombs dropped, as usual, over Kent and Essex.
18 December 1917, 6.25pm: Essex
One of the first Gothas that passed over Essex dropped four explosive bombs at the village of Hutton (12kg) and five at Shenfield (50kg), between Billericay and Brentwood. Broken windows crashed down and a woman fell fatally injured. Madeline Elsie Bates, a nurse home on leave from France, had come to stay at an aunt’s house in Shenfield. The sudden appearance of a Gotha at 6.25pm caught the warning system off guard and only the sound of exploding bombs announced the raid. The victim, unaware of the approaching danger, stood outside on a veranda. A doctor noted she had been hit either by a bomb fragment or a stone thrown up by the explosion. It struck her right temple, smashed her skull and exposed her brain. She never regained consciousness and died in hospital four days later.1 About 15 minutes later three bombs dropped at Kynochtown, near Corringham, where many of the workers at the Kynoch Explosive Works lived. One of the bombs wrecked a hut and injured three men. More activity also occurred on the Kent coast at about the same time.
18 December 1917, 6.05 – 7.57pm: Margate
At about 6.05pm a Gotha dropped 12 explosive bombs – a mixture of 50kg and 12kg – south of Margate, from Hengrove golf course to St Peter’s. In Glencoe Road about 20 houses had windows broken, as did 12 cottages near Twenties Farm, and a house in Lister Road lost its windows and sustained internal damage.
Fifteen minutes later another Gotha dropped a line of 16 bombs (nine explosive and seven incendiaries) east of Canterbury, at Patrixbourne, Bekesbourne, Littlebourne and Westbere. None caused any damage even though six of the bombs were aimed at No. 50 Squadron’s Bekesbourne airfield where all the aircraft were on the ground.
A third attack on Kent developed over Margate at 6.22pm when 16 explosive bombs (6 x 50kg and 10 x 12kg) fell on the town with damage recorded at 146 properties. An imposing building on Byron Road attracted six bombs, the Gotha commander no doubt believing it to be of some military or civil significance. The gothic-style building, however, housed the Deaf & Dumb Asylum. Fortunately, there were no injuries. Other bombs damaged property in Addington Road and the surrounding district, including at the Foresters Hall, the Emmanuel Church and its schoolroom, and the cricket pitch at Margate College.
At 6.40pm a couple of 50kg bombs landed in open countryside about 2 miles north of Deal before, at 7.57pm, a final attack on Margate took place. The only bomb to cause damage exploded at Clifton Baths on the seafront. It demolished an office and cottage at the Baths, as well as damaging 43 shops and homes in Cliff Terrace and neighbouring streets, with one woman injured in the chaos. The value of the damage inflicted on Margate reached £12,000. But the main impact that night would be felt in London.
18 December 1917, 7.15pm: London
The raid on the capital took the population by surprise.
[The] raid was the first to be made on London by heavier-than-air machines while the moon was so young – a thin sickle cut clear in an inky sky. Stars twinkled brightly overhead, partially obscured now and then by a light mist, which hung over the river and the riverside districts.
The anti-aircraft guns came into action shortly before 7 o’clock, and firing continued fitfully for upwards of two hours. City offices had already been closed before the bombardment began, but many of the workers in West-End establishments had barely left work for home.
As usual the underground platforms and passages of the tube railways quickly filled, and wherever a building offered solid cover people sought refuge from the danger of the open street. Though some motor-omnibuses and other vehicles continued their journeys during the early part of the raid, pedestrians quickly disappeared.2
Between 7.15 and 8.30pm, six Gothas bombed the capital. The 41 explosive bombs (26 x 50kg and 15 x 12kg) and four incendiaries fell across a wide area: Kentish Town, Charing Cross, Walworth, Lambeth, Bermondsey, The City, Farringdon, Clerkenwell, King’s Cross and Islington.
One of the first, a 12kg bomb, exploded alongside the Thames on the Victoria Embankment, just a short distance from Cleopatra’s Needle, which had been scarred in a previous Gotha raid in September. People were quietly waiting at a tram stop when the bomb exploded without warning. The injured were taken to hospital but four people lay dead: Beatrice Bowen, Minnie Constantine, Edith Maubon and Henry King. The inquest revealed a little of their backgrounds.
Beatrice Bowen was a cook at a dairy company; King was subeditor of the ‘Church Times’; Miss Constantine was employed at a bookshop, and… had been caught in two previous air raids; Mrs Maubon was married to an Australian soldier six weeks ago, she was a barmaid.
Henry King also served as a Special Constable and had left his office earlier than usual to report for duty. ‘He was,’ said an inspector, ‘a splendid type of man.’3
Other bombs fell in the Thames, the explosions injuring two men working on the river. About 10 minutes later five more fell in Spa Road and Southwark Park Road, Bermondsey. In Spa Road the Canadian Army had taken over a large building owned by the Salvation Army, using it as a store. It also served as an air raid shelter. Mrs Gibbons was there with her children.
It was a sad sight to see youngsters crowding in whose parents were at work: they looked pitifully lost.
After a little while a loud explosion occurred and the lights went out; the suspense was awful as we waited, expecting the roof to fall in. In the midst of the confusion a voice shouted. ‘No lights! I’ll shoot the first man to light a match.’ We afterwards learned that a gas main had burst.4
The bombs injured one of Mrs Gibbons’ children who had to be taken to hospital.
Ellen Tullemach, just 5 years old, also went to the shelter with her family; her 14-year-old sister explained what happened to them.
I heard a bang, and something hit me on the head. I was stunned for some time, and then found myself covered with blood. My other little sister had Ellen in her arms, but she was killed. My mother is in hospital with broken fingers and shrapnel in her arms, and my little brother has shrapnel in his arms.5
The injured numbered 24, and one of them, Mary Johnson, died in early January.
At 7.25pm, one of the handful of incendiary bombs dropped on London struck a five-storey building in Farringdon Road, the warehouse and offices of John G. Murdoch & Co, piano manufacturers. The remaining employees still on the premises took shelter in the basement. A fire quickly took hold, fuelled by the great amount of highly flammable material there. Two of the employees, Thomas Littlefair and Thomas Crawley, rushed to man a fire appliance, with Crawley taking the hose while Littlefair climbed a spiral staircase to turn on the water. Flames quickly engulfed the staircase. The intensity of the blaze shocked one of the attending fire officers.
Sub-officer Perrott… said that as his engine was approaching flames were stretching right across the road. It would have been a hopeless chance for anyone. The upper part of one side of the building fell into the road, and flames poured from every window. The fire was so fierce they could not get within 30ft or 40ft of it.6
Littlefair escaped the blaze, but firemen later found Crawley’s body lying near the bottom of the spiral stairs, still holding the hose.
A doctor said that deceased body was frozen, and had the appearance of having been in water for some time. Death was due to shock from burns followed by the exposure, the night being very cold.7
At 7.33pm a cluster of bombs landed east of King’s Cross Station. One, in Wicklow Street, blasted a large hole and damaged a number of buildings. Mrs Russell, the wife of a policeman, had taken shelter with her two daughters and others in the passageway of a building a few yards away. When he heard his home had been bombed, Constable Russell rushed there to find it wrecked. Neighbours told him his family had gone to the hospital; there he found 3-year-old Violet dead and his wife and other child badly hurt. Louisa Bird had been with the family.
We were sheltering in the passage – about six of us… Suddenly there was a loud noise, and the next thing I remember was seeing Mrs Russell get up and pick the deceased up.8
Ada Brock, another of those in the passage, explained that ‘they were all badly knocked about’ by the blast, then she heard Mrs Russell cry out, ‘My baby is killed’. The explosion also badly injured one of Mrs Brock’s children.
Elsewhere in the street, widowed Mrs Whelan had gone to seek shelter with her two young sons and their elder brother, John, aged 15.
[John] devoted himself to assisting the women and children into safety, and was still doing this when a bomb fell. [Mrs Whelan] was thrown down on top of her two children and the boy was blown through the door. At the hospital he said to her, ‘They have hurt me. I am in terrible agony.’9
John Whelan died in hospital; seven others in Wicklow Road were injured. And there were up to 20 more injured by another explosion just a few yards away in King’s Cross Road.
A few minutes later bombs fell in Clerkenwell. One struck 28 St John’s Lane, ripping away the upper stories of a warehouse and offices. Debris cascaded down to the street, burying 76-year-old Daniel Pulham. Two passers-by heard groans and found the victim under a mass of rubble and concrete. His injuries were serious and he died in hospital.10
After the earlier bomb on Farringdon Road, another fell there at 8.10pm. It exploded on tram tracks outside No. 109, one of many tall buildings utilised as warehouses. A group of people ‘a good distance away’ were sheltering on a stairway in one of the buildings, but even so a metal fragment dug deeply into the thigh of textile worker Herbert Mainwaring.11 He died before reaching hospital. Another man had a narrow escape when flying debris just missed his throat. Six other people in the area were injured.
This bomb had been one of the final ones dropped by the Gothas, but Giant R12 had only crossed the Essex coast at about 8.25pm. Approaching London from the north, R12 only began releasing bombs on reaching Westminster. All but one of them were incendiary, the exception being a single 300kg explosive bomb – the first of this size dropped by an aeroplane. It landed with a shattering crash in Lyall Street, Belgravia, ripping out a crater in the road about 30ft in diameter and 7ft deep; it smashed a gas main, two water mains and the main sewer. Damage spread to many buildings beyond Lyall Street, including the Russian Embassy in Chesham Place.
Of the 43 incendiary bombs attributed to R12, 31 fell between the garden of Buckingham Palace and the Thames at Millbank. Bombs shattered the glass roof over platforms seven to nine at Victoria Station but otherwise damage was remarkably light. Crossing the Thames, four more fell in Lambeth. A couple of these landed very close to Lambeth Palace, the London residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and of two in Southwark, one struck the cathedral, but with only minimal damage, while in Whitechapel the final two bombs also had a limited effect.
The anti-aircraft guns defending the capital had been in action throughout the raid, firing 6,962 shells; inevitably leading to damage on the ground. Police reports show 240 houses in London were affected in this way, mainly through damaged roofs and ceilings. There were, however, casualties. In Tottenham a falling shell killed a 60-year-old man, George Parker, in Park Lane. In London Fields, Hackney, families in Blanchard Road took shelter in a pub, the Lord Napier. Daisy Hope huddled there with her 3-year-old daughter, Lilian. ‘A missile came through,’ the widowed Mrs Hope explained, ‘and the child was hit on the head with a flying fragment of some description.’ Her daughter died from her injuries, which included a fractured skull, a broken arm and collar bone. The shells also injured 17 other people. Outside London the guns blasted another 3,090 shells at the raiders.
The RFC provided the only aerial opposition to the raid. New, more effective aeroplanes were now finding their way to the RFC squadrons charged with Home Defence: Sopwith Camels, Sopwith 1½ Strutters, the SE5a, Bristol Fighters and Armstrong Whitworth FK8s joined the BE2e, BE12 and new BE12b in opposing the raiders. One of the Camel pilots claimed a ‘first’ that night.
Captain Murlis Green of No. 44 Squadron took off from Hainault Farm airfield at 6.43pm to patrol between Woodford and Goodmayes in Essex. About 30 minutes later, flying at 10,000ft over Goodmayes, Murlis Green saw the twin exhaust flares of a Gotha and set off in pursuit.
When about 30 yards away and directly underneath the machine I was drawing closer but a searchlight beam caught me and the hostile machine together. I fired a few rounds from my top gun, several tracers appeared to go into the underneath of the fuselage of the hostile machine, but only about 12 rounds could be fired owing to the flash of the gun temporarily blinding me.12
Onboard the Gotha were the commander, Oberleutnant Gerhard von Stachelsky, with Leutnant Friedrich Ketelsen as pilot and the gunner, Gefreiter A. Weissmann. After firing this burst, Murlis Green noted that the Gotha began dropping bombs; one of these being the one that exploded in Spa Road, Bermondsey. Murlis Green banked away and then made two more attacks. Each time the gun-flash blinded him and, again caught by the dogged searchlight, the Gotha returned fire but ‘his tracers were always wide of the mark’. On his final attack, the searchlight lost contact, enabling Murlis Green to fire 50 rounds. ‘The machine then dived sharply in front of me,’ Murlis Green recalled, ‘I pulled up to avoid it, got into its “backwash” and “spun”. When I came out of the “spin” I could not see the hostile machine.’ But his attack had reaped its reward.
The Gotha’s starboard engine began to struggle and then, when about halfway back to the coast, it burst into flames. Although now losing height, the crew hoped they might be able to limp back to Belgium on one engine, but that proved impossible and they ditched in the sea off Folkestone. The crew scrambled up onto the upper wing to await their fate, but an armed British trawler loomed up and prepared to rescue them. Von Stachelsky and Weissmann successfully transferred, but Ketelsen slipped from his precarious perch and disappeared beneath the waves. The trawler attempted to take the downed Gotha in tow but suddenly a huge explosion ripped it apart – probably caused by one of the Gotha’s bombs. The blast killed one of the trawler’s crew, Frank Gee, Royal Naval Reserve. The surviving members of the Gotha crew confirmed the engagement with a British fighter had been the cause of their descent.
It is appropriate that the recognition for being the first pilot to shoot down a Gotha at night went to Captain Murlis Green; he, back in September, had defied the official line and proved it possible to fly the Sopwith Camel at night, and returned to tell the tale. The other Gothas all returned to Belgium, as did Giant R12, but there were more losses. Two of the Gothas burst into flames after crashing near Ghent and five others were damaged as they came in to land. The mournful level of attrition continued.
The attack inflicted the second highest estimate of material damage of any raid during the war, only surpassed by the Zeppelin raid on central London on the night of 8/9 September 1915. Police records confirm a total of £225,358 for the capital, plus another £12,000 for damage inflicted in Margate.13 And this time, with little use of incendiary bombs, an increased number of significant fires broke out, with 13 recorded in London; Gotha crews reported one remained visible from 50 miles away.
22 December 1917, 6.00pm: Hartsdown Farm, Margate
While London recovered, four days later activity off the coast of northeast Kent caused an alarm. Strong winds and snow clouds over the English Channel may have disrupted a raid on the French channel ports. No bombs dropped on England but a significant number of explosions sounded out to sea as bomber crews lightened their loads before returning to Belgium. One, however, did not make it.
Having battled through stormy conditions, the crew of one Gotha found themselves close to the Kent coast when an engine failed. The commander, Leutnant W. Döbrick, released his bombs at sea, then ordered the pilot, Unteroffizier G. Hoffman, to make an emergency landing, as the gunner, Vizefeldwebel H. Klaus, prepared for impact.
Just inland, between Westgate and Margate, the officer commanding the Hengrove anti-aircraft gun, returning from checking on the searchlight that supported his gun, looked up amazed to see the Gotha passing directly over him at just 500ft. ‘He endeavoured by shouting to bring his Machine Guns into action but failed to make himself heard.’ At about 6.00pm the Gotha crashed into a ploughed field on Hartsdown Farm. The crew survived the landing, although Hoffman, the pilot, dislocated his arm. They wasted no time in setting fire to their aircraft with a flare gun. Within minutes police were on their way – by taxi – to arrest the crew. By 7.25pm they were under escort and on their way to London by train.14
Late December 1917: London
After the London raid on 18 December, the air raid warning system came in for much discussion. When introduced in July 1917, the warning maroons, used alongside the police alerts announced by placards, bells, whistles and motor horns, were only to be fired during daytime raids. As such, on 18 December, when the raid took the defences by surprise, the police were unable to react and deliver the warnings before the bombs began to drop. This led to a change. In future the maroons would form part of the night-warning system too, but only up to 11.00pm, with the public notified of the change on 10 January 1918. But the following month, in response to demands from local authorities, the cut-off extended to midnight, before a final decision in March saw the employment of the maroons at any hour.
There were also other developments underway too. In his September 1917 memorandum, ‘Night Air Raids on London’, Smuts made a recommendation for a balloon apron covering the north-eastern to southeastern approaches to the capital. Plans for 20 of these aprons gained approval, each one held aloft by three balloons 500 yards apart and linked by cables, reaching up to 8,000ft (later increased to 10,000ft). From these cables, 1,000ft-long steel wires hung down at 25-yard intervals. Once aloft the aprons would force raiders to fly at more predictable heights, because any that attempted to come in below 10,000ft risked becoming ensnared in the dangling steel wires. In a report given in January, Lord French confirmed that three were in place and hoped that the remaining aprons could be completed at a rate of four per month, but in the end only ten were raised.
A restructuring of the Observer organisation, part of the Royal Defence Corps, also took place. These men watched and tracked incoming raiders, passing the information on to the Warning Controllers, with many physically unfit for more strenuous roles, a problem when they were required to ‘exercise quick and cool intelligence’ after long periods of inactivity.15 In December 1917 these men were replaced by the police, who manned the posts on receiving warning of a possible raid. The military, however, continued to man observer posts 24 hours a day on the coast where aeroplane attacks could develop at any time without warning.
There were also new technical developments. The Neame illuminated ring gunsight, fitted to aeroplane machine-guns, entered service towards the end of 1917. At 100 yards, the wingspan of a Gotha fitted exactly within the ring. Work began on developing a flash eliminator to overcome temporary night-blindness in combat and a new bullet, the R.T.S. (Richard Threlfall and Son), joined the pilots’ arsenal. The R.T.S. had both incendiary and explosive properties, the bullet exploding on contact and spreading its incendiary composition on the target. Tests showed the bullet to be very accurate and more effective than the Buckingham incendiary bullet that had preceded it.16
A period of bad winter weather now set in, preventing any further raids for over a month.
***
Peter Strasser’s Naval Airship Division had suffered badly during the so-called ‘Silent Raid’ on 19/20 October, with the loss of five Zeppelins. Although the ‘height-climber’ Zeppelin classes were able to attain heights in the region of 20,000ft, beyond the reach of Britain’s defences, the engines were still the same that had been in use since 1915 – the 240hp Maybach HSLu. They were simply unable to operate at full power at high-altitude due to the depleted oxygen content of the atmosphere, reducing them to a speed of just 45mph in perfect conditions, and much less in the face of fierce winds encountered at these new heights. Finally, however, a new altitude engine received approval, the Maybach MB IVa.
It took time to replace the five Zeppelins lost in the ‘Silent Raid’. L 58 joined the naval service on 3 November, fitted with five of the new engines. On the same day Strasser also took delivery of L 59, but this retained the older engines. Tests of the new engines at 19,700ft produced speeds of 60mph; Strasser could not hide his delight. But they were slow to produce, with ten due to be ready by 15 December, enough for two more Zeppelins. They were allocated to L 60 and L 61. The latter Zeppelin entered service on 19 December, but problems delayed L 60 and she did join the airship fleet until 1 April 1918.
Strasser launched a five Zeppelin raid on 12 December against the north of England. He flew with the new L 58, but a fierce 45mph wind roaring down from the north caused Strasser to abort the mission. After that a series of winter storms kept the Zeppelins in their sheds.
5 January 1918, afternoon: Ahlhorn, Germany
Ahlhorn had become the headquarters of the Naval Airship Division on 25 July 1917, superseding Nordholz. Its four double-berth sheds – built at great cost – could house eight airships, and two more were under construction. These massive sheds were erected in pairs, each pair about 50 metres apart. At the beginning of January 1918 there were five airships at Ahlhorn: L 46, L 47, L 51, L 58, and the latest wooden-framed Schütte-Lanz, SL 20. All sheds were traditionally given names beginning with the first two letters of the name of the base. Due to a lack of AH names, Ahlhorn used AL. L 47 and L 51 were berthed in Shed I ‘Aladin’, the new L 58 in Shed II ‘Albrecht’, L 46 in Shed III ‘Alrun’, and SL 20 in Shed IV ‘Alix’.
Late in the afternoon of 5 January 1918, Korvettenkapitän Arnold Schütze, commander of L 58, dropped into Strasser’s office.
We had just exchanged a few words and happened to be looking through the window across to my shed [‘Albrecht’]. Suddenly from the neighbouring shed [‘Aladin’]… with the deafening crash of thunder a huge broad flame rose up to the evening sky. The words: ‘Whatever is that?’ had not left my lips before the same thing happened to my shed and about ten seconds later two mighty explosions followed. Strasser, outwardly calm, rose slowly as if crippled. What was passing through his mind, only he who knew him could imagine.17
Oberleutnant-zur-See Heinrich Bassenger of the ground handling troops shared his shock.
My gaze was drawn to the window by a sudden bright glow… What was it? A fire had broken out! A vast column of flame burst through the roof of the shed and rocketed upwards into the night sky. It grew and grew, colossal, gigantic, until it reached a height in excess of 200 metres. It lit up the entire airfield, bathing it in a blindingly bright, lurid red glow… ‘The airships in Shed I are on fire!’ came the first shout. The column of flame began to subside… Next instant came the dull thud of an explosion… A great glare followed! It was coming from Shed II, next to Shed I. They disappeared from view in a cloud of smoke and dust…
‘Treachery!’ my first thought. ‘Someone’s sabotaged us!’… There was another explosion, even more powerful than before. Shed III burst asunder in a vast sheet of dull flame, its giant iron frame shattered like matchsticks. Stones and burning fragments were strewn across the airfield. Shed IV was still standing. Would this at least be spared?…
The horror had not yet finished. Once more a terrible explosion shook the air, even more powerful than any previous ones… debris tore through the air; pieces of roof panel flew in all directions. Shed IV had ceased to exist. It was like an earthquake. Thick swathes of smoke, rent with garish plumes of fire marked the spot.18
With the new moon rising on 12 January and a break in the weather forecast, each airship stood ready, gas cells inflated with hydrogen and petrol tanks brimming with fuel, ready for action at a moment’s notice. Destruction at Ahlhorn was absolute. The stark exposed framework of Sheds I and II still stood but of Sheds III and IV, little remained but scattered brickwork and twisted metal. And inside those great sheds, all five airships were destroyed. There were casualties too: 10 men of the ground crews were killed and 134 injured, while four civilian workers in Shed IV, carrying out repairs to SL 20 were also dead. Amongst those injured, Kapitänleutnant Heinrich Hollender, commander of L 46, suffered a bad break to his leg and never flew again. Ahlhorn, another disaster for the Naval Airship Division, just 11 weeks after the grievous losses of 19/20 October.
An inquiry followed, which dismissed claims of sabotage, leaving a great question mark over the cause of the disaster and how Sheds III and IV, situated about half a mile from I and II, also caught fire. Men in Shed I were busy cleaning L 51’s engine gondolas when a fire broke, the inquiry believed this may have been caused by a piece of the shed roof coming loose, falling through L 51 and damaging a fuel tank, after which a spark ignited the escaping benzine from where the fire spread rapidly through Shed I to Shed II. Many witnesses reported a huge blast wave, which rolled powerfully over the airfield, smashing windows at Shed III. The inquiry believed this wave had initially compressed the hydrogen bags of L 46 in Shed III, which then expanded violently, damaging them and allowing hydrogen to valve. Flying debris travelled long distances and burning material filled the air. A burning ember would be enough to alight any escaped hydrogen, allowing the process to repeat itself at Shed IV.19
There is no doubt that Ahlhorn added another serious setback for Strasser, but outwardly he remained positive.
It was terrible to see the proud Ahlhorn base collapse in wreckage before my eyes in the space of a minute. But we can overcome it. We have sheds and ships to fill the gap, and the determination is there to triumph over all difficulties with head held high.20
For now though, Ahlhorn could no longer function and on 10 January Strasser moved his headquarters back to Nordholz. Work continued on the two Ahlhorn sheds under construction; they were completed in April and July 1918.
It had been an inauspicious start to 1918, but the air raids on Britain – by Zeppelin, Gotha and Giant – were set to continue.