by Neil Storey
The raider then proceeded inland to Manstone, where three HE and two incendiary bombs were dropped, without causing damage beyond a few panes of broken glass in nearby houses; there were no casualties. L-42 then turned north-east and dropped two incendiary bombs at Garlinge, doing no damage. She was sighted east of Margate at 2.20 a.m. and passed out to sea over North Foreland at 2.24 a.m., having been overland for only 14 minutes.
Considerable military damage was achieved. One bomb made a direct hit on the ammunition store and blew it up, and also demolished the buildings of the naval base. Thousands of windows were broken in the town, principally owing to the explosions caused. The two bombs which fell in the town demolished three cottages, and more or less seriously damaged sixteen houses and shops. Two men and a woman were killed, and seven men, seven women and two children were injured, although these were the only casualties incurred in the whole raid. Of the seven men injured, one was a naval rating, one a RFC Lieutenant and another a policeman. The rest were civilians. The Ramsgate AA guns fired twenty-seven rounds.
A certain amount of confusion seems to have been caused by the attack. All reports agree that the sound of the Zeppelin’s engines seemed much less than has hitherto been the case, so that when she was heard she was believed to be much further off than she actually was. The searchlight reported that she was not in range of the Ramsgate guns, when in all probability she could have been. Owing also to the belly of the Zeppelin being painted black, she was almost invisible in the beams of the searchlight when it was exposed. The target was only held by the light for about 15–30 seconds and then lost again and, while they were still searching for it, the Zeppelin successfully dropped a bomb on the ammunition store extinguishing the light. The din of the series of explosions, and breaking of glass that followed, further rendered it impossible for the light director to make himself heard.
Four aircraft of the RNAS went up at 12.40 a.m. from Manstone, and returned at 3.35 a.m. with nothing to report. The Zeppelin seems to have eluded their observation successfully, though it was reported by the North Foreland lighthouse that from 1.20 a.m. to 2.32 a.m., when she was lost in cloud to the north-north-east, she was within sight of the RNAS watchers to Westgate, giving her position with every movement. From first to last, the North Foreland lighthouse seemed to be used by the Zeppelin as a centre from which she took her bearings for Ramsgate, and to which she returned to take her bearings for her departure.
Going northwards at considerable speed, she was on the latitude of Saxmundham when the catastrophe to L-48 took place, and about the same time was herself attacked by RNAS machines from Yarmouth. One seaplane, flown by Flight Sub Lieutenant Bittles, went up to engage her at 11,000ft, about 30 miles east of Lowestoft. On being attacked, she at once rose to 15,000ft and the seaplane was unable to follow her to this height. Flight Lieutenant Egbert Cadbury in his Sopwith Scout, then engaged her at 15,000ft, at which point she rose further to 16,000ft and he was compelled to break off the action, owing to a fracture in his petrol pipe.
The Zeppelin was further pursued for an hour and a half by a Curtis seaplane, flown by Flight Commander V. Nicholl and Flight Sub Lieutenant Leckie, but the speed of L-42 was too great for the seaplane, which did not overtake her and she was able to return safely to Germany.
L-41, commanded by Hauptmann Kuno Manger, was observed apparently drifting with engines cut off at about 2.20 a.m., off the coast near Martham. She appears to have dropped some bombs in the sea between 2.30 and 2.50 a.m., and was finally driven away shortly after 3 a.m. by a RNAS aircraft from Burgh Castle, piloted by Flight Sub Lieutenant Walker, who pursued her 30 miles out to sea but could not overtake her.
L-48, under Kapitänleutnant der Reserve Franz Georg Eichler, was the flagship of the raiding squadron, having Korvettenkapitän Viktor Schütze, Commodore of the North Sea Airship Division, on board. She was located 40 miles north-east of Harwich at 11.34 p.m. After this, she approached the coast slowly, arriving nearly an hour and three quarters later, some 20 miles north-east of Harwich. At 1.24 a.m. she was located 6 miles east of Orfordness, and ten minutes later was again located slightly north of this position.
It was not until 2 a.m. that L-48 crossed the coast just south of Orfordness. Steering west, she was reported near Bromeswell at 2.15 a.m. Later, at 2.25 a.m. she was sighted from Woodbridge, apparently hovering over Little Sutton, and at 2.30 a.m. she was sighted again in more or less the same position, after circling in an attempt to pick up her bearings. Shortly afterwards, the raider appears to have picked up the bearings for Harwich for, at 2.42 a.m., she was sighted approaching the Trimley Heath gun from the direction of Martlesham, where she dropped three HE bombs, which broke a few panes of glass.
Zeppelin L-48.
Fire was immediately opened by all seven guns of the AA defences. Guns from the ships in Harwich harbour and 6-pdrs mounted on minesweepers lying off Bawdsey also engaged the Zeppelin. As it seems improbable that L-48 approached closer to Harwich defences than Kirton, it is improbable she ever came within range of more than four of the AA guns, and that many rounds would have fallen short of the target. On the other hand, the fire of so many guns created a formidable barrage through which the Zeppelin would have had to pass before she could reach Harwich. This barrage undoubtedly deterred her from approaching the defences more closely. In all, 569 rounds were fired, of which 498 were from 3in 20cwt guns. The night was exceptionally clear, and the raider could be seen clearly with the naked eye.
Harwich Garrison reported: ‘soon after the opening of fire, shells from the AA guns were observed to burst close to the Zeppelin and fragments of shell hit her. The Zeppelin altered her course and was observed to be in difficulties; she circled round and was evidently out of control.’
On the other hand, all reports sent in by units of the 72nd Division at Ipswich, who were observing the action from a flank, state that the Zeppelin was not observed to be hit by AA shells, all of which seemed to fall short of her. And this is confirmed by the pursuing aviators, who observed that all the AA fire was too low.
Leutnant zur See Mieth, who was saved from the wreck of L-48, stated under cross-examination that the ship was out of control between 12.30 a.m. and 2 a.m. (BST) owing to engine trouble. The engines were repaired, after which the attack on Harwich was undertaken. Mieth stated emphatically that L-48 had not been hit by the fire of the AA guns, being well out of range the whole time.
When fire first opened on the raider from the Harwich defences at 2.42 a.m., L-48 was about a mile north of Kirton. Thence she seems to have steered south-east right across Parker’s Lane and west of Kirton Lodge, dropping twelve bombs, one of which did not explode. Tiles were blown off a barn, but otherwise no damage was done except to fields. A mile south of Kirton Lodge, L-48 turned due east, passing south of the village of Falkenham, and dropping nine bombs at regular intervals of 300–400 yards. Of these, two were of the largest size (300kg) and two of intermediate size (200kg), but no damage was done. Just beyond Falkenham she turned north-east and crossed the River Deben.
She seems to have been travelling very slowly, for she was sighted just north of Kirton at 2.42 a.m., and the Harwich guns continued to fire on her until about 3.17 a.m. when she was lost to sight north of the River Deben. At this, she proceeded north at considerable speed but was evidently still in trouble, as her nose was observed to be constantly slewing round to the left and she was steadily losing height.
At 3.20 a.m. she was reported in the neighbourhood of Orford, and at 3.28 a.m. she was brought down in flames by Second lieutenant L.P. Watkins of the Canadian Army and the 37th Squadron, Home Defence Group, and fell in a field at Holly Tree Farm, near Theberton, north-east of Saxmundham. She had then traversed a distance of about 12 miles in as many minutes. The Zeppelin was attacked at the same time by another aeroplane of the RFC, piloted by Captain R.H.M.S. Saundby of the Experimental Station at Orfordness, but the coup de grace appears to have been given by Lieutenant Watkins.
The lig
ht of the burning Zeppelin was seen as far north as the Haisborough light vessel. Lieutenant Watkins states that L-48 was flying at a height of about 13,700ft when he attacked. She had apparently descended considerably from the height she was originally at when engaged by the Harwich guns, and her gradually decreasing height was noted by the pilot of one of the pursuing aeroplanes, Lieutenant F.W. Holder, who stated that when he was at 14,200ft near Harwich L-48 was 2,000ft above him, after which she ‘was observed to lose height while proceeding in a northerly direction at about 50mph.’
L-48 came down more slowly than had been the case in previous catastrophes of the same kind, the fall taking three to five minutes. The envelope was stripped off by flames and blew away as it had on previous occasions, appearing as a blazing mass above the heavier body of the Zeppelin and thus giving rise to the statement that she broke in two parts.
The three survivors owe their lives to the comparatively slow fall. The Zeppelin came down stern first, at an angle of about 60°, smashing the whole after part, including the rear gondola, all the occupants of which were killed. The front gondola was badly damaged, but one of its occupants survived, though terribly hurt – Leutnant zur See Otto Mieth was rescued from the burning Zeppelin by the local constable. Kapitänleutnant Eichler and four of the crew jumped from the Zeppelin, but were killed outright by the fall. Korvettenkapitän Schütze was burnt alive.
Of the two men in the two side gondolas, both survived. Maschinistenmaat Ücker, who was in the port gondola, was severely injured, but the other, Maschinistenmaat Ellerkamm, who was in the starboard gondola, came to earth absolutely unhurt, and was standing by the wreck when arrested by a petty officer of the Royal Navy and the local constable.
L-48 hit the earth obliquely, so that the starboard gondola, in which Ellerkamm was, remained high in the air and practically undamaged. Both side gondolas seem to have been slung higher than was the case in other Imperial German airships. There was no doubt that L-48 had some difficulty with her engines that compelled her to drift for a period variously estimated from fifteen minutes, to the hour and a half given by Leutnant zur See Mieth. It was not likely that this trouble was caused by the AA gunfire from Harwich.
Aerial reconnaissance photograph of crashed L-48 at Theberton, taken by an aircraft from RFC Norwich on 17 June 1917. Note the crowd of onlookers and the ring of soldiers surrounding the site.
The original graves of the sixteen members of the crew of L-48 in St Peter’s churchyard extension, Theberton, Suffolk.
SHOT DOWN BY THE BRITISH
Leutnant zur See Otto Mieth wrote an article that evocatively described the last operational flight of L-48, originally published in German in Frankfurter Zeitung Illustriertes Blatt on 28 February 1926 translated into Shot Down by the British, it was published in The Living Age on 17 April, 1926:
16 June 1917 was a bright beautiful summer day. Our naval airbase, Nordholz, near Cuxhaven, lay embosomed in idyllic heath country and amid clumps of pines and birches. Its gigantic sheds and grounds basked in the sunshine as if there were nothing but peace and goodwill on earth. Suddenly a wild, warlike shriek, beginning with a deep rumple and rising into a long, shrill tremolo, rent the dreamy atmosphere. Thrice did the siren call.
Thus Mars suddenly strode into the tents of peace, for this was the summons for a raid against England. Files of attendants rushed out of the barracks to the airship sheds, whose doors suddenly yawned wide open as if they had been burst out by the rising roar of the motorists within. A moment later two giant Zeppelins slowly emerged. One was L.48, the newest airship in the navy, to which I had been assigned as watch officer.
As I directed the operation of bringing her out, I studied with proud delight the slender, handsome lines of the giant, six hundred feet long and sixty feet through at its greatest girth. Four gondolas, one on either side, and one fore and one aft in the centre, were suspended below its body. They contained five motors, while the front gondola was reserved for the steersmen and their instruments. Our regular crew consisted of twenty men, including two officers, but today we carried an attack commander, Captain Sch— [Korvetten- Kapitän Viktor Schuetze].
Black is the colour of night and black was the colour of our ship. Our shield was darkness, for when she enwrapped the earth and nature and man on moonless nights she announced the hour for us to rise to lofty altitudes and to attack the enemy behind his ancient walls of water.
We did not look forward expectantly to the devastation we planned to wreak. That was in the line of duty, for which we risked our lives. But the real joy in our service was, after all, the charm of nature, the sense of isolation in infinite space for our fragile ship – alone with the heavens above and the waters beneath the earth.
As soon as I boarded the ship, our mooring lines were loosened, propellers began to whirl and the L.48 rose quickly but majestically into the air. A last wave of the hand, a shout of ‘Back tomorrow!’ and the North Sea rolled beneath us.
Our course lay due west. We were in the best of spirits and though our sailors were superstitious, no-one recalled the fact that this was our thirteenth raid. Our sealed orders were opened. They read briefly: ‘Attack South East England – if possible London.’ Willhelmshaven appeared on our port side. The vessels of our high sea fleet, lying on watch at Schillig Reede, signalled, ‘A successful trip.’
The North Friesland Islands came into sight and disappeared behind us. We pushed steadily onward. Slowly the homeland sank into the misty distance and over Terschelling we found ourselves already in the enemy zone of operation. Only a few days before, the British had surprised and destroyed two of our reconnoitring airships at this point. We rose to the three thousand metre level scanning the air anxiously in all directions but discovered no sign of the enemy.
On and on. Our motors hummed rhythmically, our propellers whistled. It gradually became darker. The last rays of the sun gilded the waves and a light mist spread like a thin veil over the earth making it difficult to pick up our bearings. We had gradually risen to five thousand metres and were close to the southeatern coast of England. But it was still too light for our purpose, so we were forced to bear away from land and wait for darkness. Suddenly a heavy thunder storm swept over England. Flashes of lightning a kilometre long rent the clouds. This wonderful scene lasted but a few minutes and then passed on but then we resumed our course we discovered that there had been a violent atmospheric disturbance and that the direction of the wind had suddenly changed and we were bucking a strong southwest gale that impeded our progress. By this time it was perfectly dark and we crossed the English coast in the vicinity of Harwich. Silver-white streaks of surf were clearly visible beneath us, so that we could easily follow the contours of the coast. But everything else was absolute blackness; not a light was visible.
We knew, therefore, that an alarm had been. Millions of people were aware of our coming and were preparing to give us a warm reception. We made our last preparations. Signals rang through the ship, ‘Full speed ahead,’ ‘Clear ship for battle.’ Now for the luck of war!
By this time it was bitterly cold, the temperature having fallen seventy-two degrees since we left Germany and we shivered even in our heavy clothing. At our high altitude, moreover, we breathed with great difficulty and in spite of our oxygen flasks several members of the crew became unconscious. Nevertheless we pushed on steadily against the southwest wind, driving our machines at their full power. But June nights are short in England and our chances of reaching London grew constantly less. Suddenly a starboard propeller stopped and an engineer reported that the motor had broken down.
As our forward motor was knocking badly, we had to give up London. Thereupon one bit of bad luck followed another. Our compass froze and we had great difficulty in keeping our bearings. At length we decided to attack Harwich, which lay diagonally ahead of us wrapped in a light stratum of fog so we made for the leeward side of the town in order to cross over quickly with the wind behind us. It was 2.00am and our altitude was 5
600 metres, or nearly eighteen thousand feet.
When we swung around and pointed directly for Harwich it was still as death in the gondola. All nerves were tense. The only sounds that broke the silence were low orders to the steersman from time to time. Suddenly somebody work up below us. Twenty or thirty searchlights flashed out in unison, thrusting long, white groping, luminous arms into the air. They clutched hastily and nervously, crossed each other, passed so close to us that our gondola was as bright as day. Yes, they even flickered across the ship itself without detecting us. Meanwhile we drew closer and closer to our goal, sliding between the shafts of light with humming propellers. For several minutes this game continued. Then one searcher picked us up and held us fast in his circle of light. Thirty white arms grasped greedily at us as if they would tear us out of the air with their eager clutches. Our slender black ship was flooded with their radiance, which it reflected in jetty sparkles from its glittering body. Instantly it began to thunder and lighten below as if all inferno had been let loose. Hundreds of guns fired simultaneously, their flashes twinkling like fireflies in the blackness beneath. Shells whizzed past and exploded. Sharpnel flew. The ship was enveloped in a cloud of gas, smoke and flying missiles. Hissing like poisonous serpents, whistling, howling, visible during their whole trajectory, blue-white uncanny fire-shells and rockets sang past us. Peng! peng! bellowed the English guns in their sharp staccato, like a great pack of hounds at the heels of a stag. But we kept steadily forward into this witches’ cauldron. Every man stood at his post with bated breath. The weariness, the cold and the rarefied air had been forgotten. Our beating hearts fairly drummed against our sides. I kept my eye glued on my vertical glass, my right hand on the lever of the electric bomb-release. Gradually our target came into the field of vision until it reached the point set. I pressed the lever and at fixed intervals, one by one, the bombs fell. A new sound now punctuated the incessant roar beneath – the dull throbbing boom! boom! as our missiles struck the earth. The whole thing lasted only a minute or two, but in that brief interval was concentrated the experience of an ordinary lifetime. We steered straight ahead across the area of fire. To be or not to be was now the question. Were a single one of the countless shells that flew past us to strike our six hundred feet of unprotected body, our gas would be aflame in an instant and our fate would be sealed.
