The Making of the First World War

by Ian F W Beckett

  Rather like the naval bombardment of the east coast, Zeppelin raids attracted a mixture of emotions: fear and anger, but also curiosity. The first Zeppelin raid on Great Yarmouth resulted in two dead, a fifty-three-year-old shoemaker, Samuel Smith, and a seventy-two-year-old, Miss Martha Taylor. A woman playing the piano at the Fish Wharf Refreshment Rooms was blown off her stool but survived, while the door had been blown off the vestry of St Peter's Church. The landlord of the First and Last on Fish Quay picked up still-warm bomb fragments and handed them to the police. Two unexploded bombs were displayed in the Drill Hall. According to The Times the town had received only a ‘slight headache’.7 As in the case of Scarborough, the East End of London also attracted crowds in 1915 once bombing began. According to Sylvia Pankhurst, ‘Impatient passengers on the tops of buses were asking before they had yet passed Bishopsgate: “Is this the East End?”. Sightseers paused at Shoreditch Church because rumour declared it had been injured, though not a sign of damage was to be seen. Crowds stood with chins uncomfortably upstretched arguing whether the thin shadow cast by the lightning conductor might really be a crack.’8

  Rumours were rife of German night surveys of potential targets, and the authorities attempted to play down the risks of so-called ‘visits’, primarily to prevent the Germans from gaining accurate intelligence. Consequently, the press resorted to printing German communiqués on the location of raids. On 31 April 1915 an explosion was heard in Greenwich and at the Royal Arsenal, Woolwich. Word spread of a ‘terrible air attack on North London’, to the extent that the lack of warning received caused arsenal workers temporarily to refuse to resume labour after the ‘all clear’ was announced. Those responsible for air-raid precautions at Woolwich enquired whether there had been a raid: ‘Not an official one was the laconic reply.’9 Bombs had actually fallen on Dalston, Leyton and Stoke Newington. The sensation of being under attack was itself an unusual experience. One worker at Woolwich leaning out of a window saw a Zeppelin ‘hovering about overhead’ and heard a ‘strange buzzing sound’ followed by a crash and a ‘cold blast of air’ as a bomb hit a storeroom with a corrugated roof nearby, which ‘rose into the air several feet and smashed down on the cobblestones’. A woman in London heard ‘an odd chunkety, chunkety noise. It sounded as if a train with rusty wheels were travelling through the sky. I ran out on to the balcony and saw something which looked like a large silver cigar away to my left, and I realised that it was a Zeppelin.’10

  The random (and seasonal) nature of Zeppelin attacks meant that there was no sustained pressure on domestic morale. Restaurants began to offer sausage and mash as ‘Zepp and a portion of clouds’.11 London theatres, however, reported audiences trailing off in ‘Zeppelin weather’ of dark, fine nights as the moon waned. The longest interruption of work at the Royal Arsenal in Woolwich was just six hours on 31 March 1916. But, at the same time, the unexpected occurrence of raids could bring criticism of the lack of defences. When Hull was bombed on 5 March 1916 – the Zeppelins had been struggling against high winds to reach the Firth of Forth – an RFC vehicle was stoned by indignant civilians. Soldiers were also attacked in Beverley. Backed by the Daily Mail, the colourful Noel Pemberton-Billing resigned from the RNAS and stood at a by-election at Mile End in January 1916 as an Independent, campaigning for more air-raid defences. A former soldier in the South African War, Pemberton-Billing had tried his hand at being a chauffeur, a bricklayer, an actor and a playwright before he became ‘air-minded’. Establishing the first aerodrome in England at Fambridge in Essex in 1908, he also founded the Supermarine aviation company at Southampton in 1912. He was unsuccessful at Mile End but then won another by-election for East Hertfordshire in February 1916, demanding an ‘Imperial Air Fleet’, an air ministry and mass bombing of German towns. Known as the ‘Member for Air’, Pemberton-Billing's influence declined after the Smuts report was published. Subsequently, he featured in an extraordinary libel case in May 1918. Having alleged that the Germans had a list of 47,000 British men and women open to blackmail for sexual depravity, Pemberton-Billing stood accused of libelling the dancer and actress, Maud Allen, as a lesbian. He was acquitted amid the general hysteria concerning declining wartime sexual mores: he eventually retired from politics through ill health in 1923.

  The Germans had originally intended to use conventional aircraft to bomb Britain in November 1914, establishing the euphemistically named ‘Ostend Carrier Pigeon Detachment’ in Belgium with the intention of basing it at Calais once the port fell into their hands. The failure of the 1914 offensive saw it transferred to the Eastern Front. The Aviatik B1 aircraft originally allocated would not have been effective as bombers. Re-equipped with heavier aircraft, the renamed Bombing Wing No. 1 was deployed to Bulgaria in 1915. The crews were sent back to Belgium in 1916 as Bombing Wing No. 3, or the English Squadron, under the command of Ernst Brandenburg. They received the new Gothas in March 1917. Now thirty-three, Brandenburg had transferred to the German air force as an observer in 1915 after a wound had rendered him unfit for further ground combat duties. Too capable to be restricted to such a relatively minor role, he was soon selected to organise and train the squadron for missions against Britain, the squadron being divided between four airfields around Ghent. Crewed by a pilot, a navigator and a rear gunner, the Gotha had no radio and no instruments for blind flying, necessitating good visibility for navigation. It was an unwieldy aircraft, quickly exhausting pilots, who grappled with the controls. Indeed, in the raid of 7 July 1917, three of the Gothas crashed over Belgium on the way back from London as a result of high winds. The Gotha could carry up to 880 pounds of bombs, however, typically comprising a mix of 22- or 110-pounds bombs, and incendiaries.

  A lone German LVG aircraft had dropped six bombs over London on 28 November 1916, injuring ten people in the area of Harrods and Victoria Station, but the Gotha promised an impact of far greater magnitude. The first appearance of the Gotha was on 25 May 1917, 23 aircraft dropping 159 bombs on Folkestone. They killed 71 people, a number of whom had been queuing outside a shop for food. The scrambling of 74 defending aircraft succeeded in downing only one of the Gothas. There was an ‘indignation’ meeting in the town, and a deputation waited on Field Marshal Lord French, commanding Home Forces, on 30 May to enquire why there had been no warning. This first Gotha raid had been meant to reach London but had turned back amid dense cloud cover over Essex. Folkestone had become accustomed to attack, Thanet suffering the most air attacks during the war. One raid on 3 September 1917 resulted in 131 deaths in the naval barracks at Chatham. Dover was especially targeted in the autumn of 1917, the authorities opening up cliff shelters capable of holding over 25,000 people. Indeed, Dover was the first British town bombed by an aircraft, a lone German FF 29 floatplane having dropped two bombs in the sea close to Admiralty Pier on 21 December 1914, and another then dropping a bomb in a garden close to the castle on Christmas Eve. Dover had twenty-nine warnings in three months from September to November 1917: one every three days. At one point, there were thirteen consecutive nights when the sirens sounded. It was said that those ‘who were free to change their residence at pleasure left for safer quarters’.12

  The raid on London on 13 June 1917 should have involved 20 German aircraft but two turned back with engine trouble and a third did so after dropping its bombs on Margate at 1045 hours, killing four people. Three more broke away once over the English coast, one dropping bombs on Shoeburyness at 1120 hours, injuring two people, and another on Southweald, while the third flew a presumed reconnaissance flight over Greenwich without dropping any bombs. The remaining 14, flying in a rough diamond formation, appeared at about 15,000 feet over London at about 1130 hours in bright sunshine that made all the major sites quite visible to the Gotha crews. Many people on the ground assumed they were British aircraft and took no cover. Brandenburg fired a flare at 1135 hours, his aircraft dispersing at the signal to bomb individual targets. The attack was centred on Liverpool Street Station. Sixteen people were killed in the sta
tion, another nineteen in an office building at 65 Fenchurch Street, and thirteen including Constable Smith in Central Street, Finsbury. Those aircraft with bombs remaining released them over East London. Southwark and Dalston received hits; five bombs fell in East Ham; and fifteen across Blackwall, Poplar and Limehouse, including that on the Upper North Street school. Preliminary police reports submitted at 1900 hours recorded serious damage to an iron foundry in Beech Court, Barbican, and eight other premises in the City, mostly shops or warehouses, with Liverpool Street Station and a further sixty-four City buildings slightly damaged.13 It was later calculated that £130,000 worth of damage had been done to property.

  A Special Constable walking down Yeomans Row off the Brompton Road was mesmerised by the appearance of so many aircraft: ‘the sight was so magnificent that I stood in the yard spellbound. The noise of the air being churned up by this fleet of aeroplanes was very loud.’ His wife was on a bus in Knightsbridge when the raiders appeared and took cover in Hyde Park House, used as offices by the Admiralty: ‘The basement was packed with women clerks, some of whom were crying hysterically. One caught hold of me. “Oh, I'm going to be killed! I'm going to be killed!” she moaned, pinching my arm so violently that what with pain and excitement I flared up and replied quite venomously, “I hope you will,” which so surprised her that she stood still staring at me with her mouth open, the picture of idiocy. A girl near who also had been crying, but quietly, remarked, “You aren't very sympathetic.” “I'm sorry,” said I, beginning to recover my temper, “but my sympathies are with the men who have to bear this kind of thing day after day and night after night.” I wasn't in the least brave, but I was excited.’14 An American journalist on a bus noted that ‘men and women strangely stood still, gazing up into the air. The conductor mounted the stairs to suggest that outside passengers should seek safety inside. Some of them did so. “I'm not a religious man,” remarked the conductor, “but what I say is, we are all in God's hands and if we are going to die we may as well die quiet.” But some inside passengers were determined that if they had to die quiet they might as well see something first and they climbed on top and with wonderstruck eyes watched the amazing drama of the skies.’15 Generally remarking on the apparent excitement caused by the raid, The Times commented on the ‘tendency of people to rush into the streets and stare skywards’ rather than taking cover.16

  There was widespread criticism at the lack of warning, most Londoners only becoming aware of the raid when bombs started dropping. As might be expected, there was particular outrage at the deaths of the Poplar infants, the bomb having penetrated two upper floors, killing two children on its way, before detonating in the infant class on the ground floor. London County Council denounced ‘innocent victims of German barbarity’. A public funeral for the victims conducted by the Bishop of London took place on 20 June, the bodies being interred in a common grave in East London Cemetery. The mayor of Poplar, Will Crooks, announced that the victims had ‘died as truly for their country and for everything worth dying for as any of our men at the front or on the high seas’.17 Four teachers subsequently received the OBE and the public raised £1,455 19s. 11d for a memorial, which still stands in Poplar Recreation Ground in the East India Dock Road. A resolution was passed demanding reprisals at a meeting at the Opera House attended by the Lord Mayor on 17 June, and he headed a deputation to the Home Secretary four days later demanding better air-raid warnings.

  The second raid, on 7 July, by 22 Gothas – two more had turned back, with one bombing Margate yet again – was centred on the City and the East End, with many falling close to Fenchurch Street. Anti-aircraft fire and a total of 101 RFC and RNAS fighters sent up to engage the Gothas made little impression. Only one Gotha was shot down on its return across the North Sea, and one forced down at Ostend through damage. Three more, as recounted earlier, were lost to high winds encountered on landing. Moreover, anti-aircraft fire had caused at least ten of the deaths in London from falling shrapnel.

  Since the government had assured everyone that everything would be done to protect against air raids after the earlier raid, there was even greater indignation at ‘the irritating and humiliating impunity’ of the Gothas.18 Riots occurred after the second raid in Bethnal Green, Dalston, Hackney and Holloway, with disturbances continuing for three days. In Dalston, for example, the local police station was attacked in an attempt to free those arrested. On 13 July a delegation of MPs waited on Lloyd George to call for improved air defence for London. The prime minister was naturally anxious to dispel false rumours, suggesting that bringing down four enemy machines was not only a reasonable effort but also urging a sense of proportion as to deaths from the raids and the losses incurred daily by the army on the Western Front.

  Despite some examination of the problem of air defence by a subcommittee of the Committee of Imperial Defence in 1909, little thought had been given to coordinating it, and inter-service rivalry had continued to bedevil its evolution. There were only 33 anti-aircraft guns in the whole of England in August 1914, of which just 12 were allocated to London. Nearly all available RFC aircraft were also sent to France on the outbreak of war, though the RNAS had a number available for home defence. The RNAS was made primarily responsible for home defence against air raids, but the Zeppelin raids on London forced the RFC to divert additional aircraft from the Western Front in September 1915. The retired Admiralty gunnery expert, Admiral Sir Percy Scott, was also given the task of increasing the number of anti-aircraft guns available to defend the capital. By 1917 there were 11 fighter squadrons attached to the Home Defence Wing of the RFC, of which four were allocated to London. With the apparent decline of the Zeppelin threat, however, a number of pilots trained in night flying were sent to the Western Front in February 1917. On 6 March 1917, to facilitate manpower reductions in home defence when men were needed in France and Flanders, it was also decided to restrict anti-aircraft batteries from firing on even identifiably hostile aircraft outside of coastal areas: this was rescinded on 7 June 1917 following the initial Gotha raid on Folkestone.

  From the beginning, it was left to local authorities to determine what precautions should be implemented. A blackout or rather ‘dim out’ was introduced for defended harbours in August 1914 and was extended to other designated areas including London on 1 October 1914. In April 1915 a blackout was extended to Middlesborough, Hartlepool and the Tees under permissive clause of the Defence of the Realm Act, it being arranged to dowse all lights and the glare of the local blast furnaces within twelve minutes of a warning. Zeppelin attacks on inland targets such as Burton-on-Trent and Walsall in January 1916 forced a more general extension. Lighting restrictions caused more difficulties than the raids themselves, leading to increased traffic accidents. Bizarrely, the chiming of public clocks was also stopped due to the fear that it might provide a navigational aid to Zeppelins. There were suggestions in London that lowering gas pressure or ringing telephones could be an additional means of warning of raids but not all people had gas, and even fewer had telephones. At the Royal Arsenal at Woolwich, where noise from factory machines made verbal warnings impossible, notices were held up, though these were eventually replaced by klaxons.

  At least Zeppelins could be caught through their slow rate of climb. Flight Sub-Lieutenant Rex Warneford successfully dropped bombs on a LZ 37 on 6 June 1915 over Ghent, and Lieutenant W. Leefe Robinson shot down a similar Schütte Lanz SL 11 airship with new incendiary bullets over Cuffley in Hertfordshire on 2/3 September 1915. Not surprisingly, in view of the effect on morale, both Warneford and Leefe Robinson were awarded the Victoria Cross. Warneford was killed in a flying accident only a few days after downing the Zeppelin; Leefe Robinson died of influenza in the pandemic of 1918. Poor wireless security on the part of Zeppelin crews also greatly assisted British signals intelligence once the Naval Intelligence Division and Military Intelligence Division began to cooperate fully. The British often had a better idea of the location of Zeppelins than the latter's own crews. Los
ses mounted steadily, the doyen of Zeppelin commanders, Heinrich Mathy, jumping to his death from the burning and stricken L31 on the night of 1/2 October 1916 over Potters Bar. In all, Germany lost 17 airships in combat, with 21 lost in accidents.

  The Gotha raids were a different matter. Earlier warnings had not been given in the belief that false alarms would disrupt production and prove counter-productive. The Gothas compelled the introduction of an official air-raid warning system in July 1917, though there were doubts as to how effective it would prove in a major city. Generally, it was believed that people should have the opportunity to take cover should they wish, since it was not felt that the raids could seriously affect normality. Policemen on bicycles issued the warnings, though maroons were also fired. Boy Scouts sounded the ‘all clear’, and Automobile Association vehicles carried ‘all clear’ notices. Public shelters had to be improvised such as the caves at Chiselhurst, the London Underground, and the tunnels under the Thames at Rotherhithe, Blackwall, Greenwich and Woolwich. Surprisingly, it was not until July 1918 that the Metropolitan Police carried out a detailed survey of larger public shelters available in London, although they had surveyed the capacity of tube stations in early 1917. The public had taken to the tunnels before the War Office, the LCC and the Metropolitan Police could agree that they should be officially opened at night in August 1917. It was reported as early as September that up to 30,000 people were taking shelter in the Rotherhithe tunnel, between 10,000 and 12,000 in the Blackwall vehicle tunnel, and up to 3,000 in the small Greenwich and Woolwich pedestrian tunnels.19 In the case of the underground, police were put on duty at 1700 hours each evening to control the crowds following the realisation that there was considerable overcrowding. It has been suggested, indeed, that as many as 300,000 people were sheltering in the London Underground in September 1917, there being six raids over eight nights. It was reported that the stations echoed to ‘rollicking choruses’ of popular songs, while the ‘more youthful’ danced.20 Conceivably, therefore, more used the underground for air-raid shelters in proportion to the capital's population than in the Second World War.