Wakefield in the Great War, page 20
Stories about the couple, even today, claim that the family only learned of the secret marriage when the Daily Mirror broke the story eight weeks later and the Yorkshire Evening Post of 28 December 1915 declared that the only witnesses had been the vicar and the vestry clerk. Given the party his father had thrown for him just a year earlier, it seems Rowland could do no wrong in his parents’ eyes. The couple’s marriage certificate shows that Rowland’s father, at least, attended the wedding and signed the certificate as a witness. Writing home from France, Rowland thanked his father, saying ‘Eve’ had told him that his parents had been ‘extremely nice’ to her whilst he was away and expressing his hopes that they would get to know her, as he did, as ‘the most loveable person’. By the time Rowland completed his flight training, Eve was pregnant with the first of two sons and living in a London town house paid for by Lord and Lady St Oswald as a sign of their acceptance of their new daughter-in-law.
The story brightened a dark time. Germany had launched total war and December 1914 had seen their ships bombarding English coastal towns. Harold Sunderland, manager of the Public Benefit Boot Company in Hartlepool was wounded by a shell splinter when his shop was destroyed. Like hundreds of other residents, he and his family fled inland, taking shelter with his father-in-law in Wakefield where they became the centre of attention for a time. As fears of a seaborne invasion gradually faded, though, a new and more terrifying threat emerged that would bring the war to Britain’s streets. On the night of 6–7 June 1915, a Zeppelin airship designated the L9 crossed the Yorkshire coast near Holderness and in just 13 minutes unleashed bombs on the city of Hull that left twenty-four people dead and forty injured. Censors prohibited the reporting of raids claiming that German intelligence could gather useful information that would help them in the future. As a result, the Hull Daily Mail carried no direct references to the attack, although that something had happened is clear from close reading of the papers over the following week when adverts appeared offering shelter from future raids: ‘Zeppelin Raids – Bomb Proof Shelter. Use for one year, one person £5. F. Singleton & Co., 3 Alfred Gelder St, Hull.’ There was anger in the city that there were no real defences against air attack and only a dummy wooden gun guarded by a single soldier mounted on the roof of the Rose, Down & Thompson munitions factory. Public anger spilled over into an attack on a Royal Flying Corps truck and stones thrown at an RFC officer in Beverley. Wakefield had even fewer defences.
Long-range air navigation was still in its infancy and the Zeppelin raiders were often lost. When Bolton and Sheffield were bombed later in the war, the crews reported having hit their designated targets of Derby and Lincoln but the Humber estuary, pointing like a finger to the industrial centres of the West Riding, put Wakefield under the path of the giant airships as they crossed the coast. Blackout restrictions were strictly enforced and new laws under the Defence of the Realm Act had made bonfires and fireworks illegal, to prevent signals being sent to attackers. Whistling in the street during an alert became a criminal offence in case the crews high above could hear it over the noise of the wind and their engines. At first, the Zeppelins seemed invincible. They flew so high that by the time observers had spotted them and home defence fighters had climbed to the right height they were long gone. Even if they could catch them, the British aircraft lacked the right weapons to do any real damage. Tactics included dropping bombs onto the airship or even an anchor, which was then towed along to try to tear open the fuselage. It was not until 1916 that explosive bullets were made available and soon the tide began to turn.
‘Zeppelins Over England’, a 1916 German account of the air war. The book contained a long list of towns supposedly hit by bombing raids, but with air navigation in its infancy, most were just guesses as to where the bombs may have fallen.
Known to the locals around his family home at The Grange, in Ackworth, as ‘Billy’, Lieutenant Wulstan Joseph Tempest, of No. 39 Squadron was one of five brothers serving in the war. When Zeppelin L31 appeared over London Tempest spotted it and gave chase, even though he was struggling with a fault in his aircraft that meant he needed to keep hand pumping a lever to maintain pressure in his fuel tanks as he flew towards the enemy. The situation was not helped by ‘a very inferno’ of anti-aircraft fire coming from London’s defences buffeting his frail plane. Trying to keep pumping his fuel lever, fly the aircraft and fire his guns at the same time, Tempest closed in on the L31. ‘I let her have another burst as I passed under her tail’, he later reported, ‘and flying along underneath her pumped lead into her for all I was worth … As I was firing I noticed her begin to go red inside like an enormous Chinese lantern and then a flame shot out of the front of her and I realised she was on fire. She then shot up about 200ft, paused, and came roaring down straight onto me before I had time to get out of the way. I nose dived for all I was worth with the Zepp tearing after me, and expected every minute to be engulfed in the flames. I put my machine into a spin and just managed to corkscrew out of the way as she shot past me roaring like a furnace.’ Tempest instantly became a national hero.
Kapitanleutnant Frankenburg, commander of the Zeppelin that bombed Sharlston.
Despite mounting losses, the Zeppelins kept coming. At about 9.00pm on 27 November 1916, airship L21 crossed the coast near Atwick and headed inland as part of a large raiding force. She was spotted over Driffield at about 9.45pm and continued on a meandering course inland. Censorship at the time prevented newspapers reporting on the effects of raids so that the enemy could not know whether they had hit the right target but the Pontefract and Castleford Express of 1 December 1916 managed to provide a detailed account of L21’s visit that somehow managed to pass the censors by, writing about ‘… a Northern Town known far and wide for several possessions comprising ancient and medieval buildings, a public park etc., etc., etc. In all it’s long history the town which has borne the shocks and blows enough had not hitherto been the object of attention of these modern murder machines, the Zepp, although more than once like engines have passed over the old Borough elsewhere on wicked slaughter bent, so that Monday night’s visitation was at once a novel and altogether alarming experience. The first intimation of the presence of Zepps in the district was assumed when the public gas supply was turned very low at about 9.15pm. At about 10.30pm the doubts of most people were determined by the distant booms of bursting bombs. Then of course everybody began to be interested. Meantime the ‘specials’ were discharging their duty in a way that does them exceeding credit. At this time it was thought that the effort of destruction was aimed at distant munition works or at some large centre of population, but when at about 11 o’clock there were terrific explosions and loud reports accompanied by heavy gun shooting none needed to be told that at last the huns were upon them. As a matter of fact, proved next morning by many witnesses, one or more of the terrible visitants hovered over the town and the neighbourhood for a considerable time, dealing out had they been accurately aimed, sufficient bombs to destroy half the town and many of the dwellers therein, not to speak of several big villages at some distance … It was at this time that the effects of the explosions and the shooting were most telling making the windows of old properties rattle, smashing some, and rousing the townsfolk, the people of the countryside, and the villagers generally. There is no need to say that many persons were scared, that many remained calm and cool, and that a large number of people risked going into the open to see the unwanted sight – a raider airship hovering, droning, throbbing with inward forces and threatening everybody and everything beneath it … About 11 o’clock the shooting and bombing explosions, near or distant, became less frequent and shortly afterwards the droning gradually died away in the distance. Those who had taken refuge in basements etc came out to learn what could be learnt and others retired to their beds. The visitation was not ended however for at about 11.30 the unwelcome sound of distant bombs was heard and in an amazingly short time bombs exploded quite near and the droning was again practically overhead accompanied by what sounded like cracks of “heavens artillery” terrific and nerve shaking to quiet peaceable people. The experience however did not last long and about 11.45 the visitors cleared off for good although explosions were heard in the distance, either of their making or the shots of airmen in pursuit. For the space of an hour or more there were many people in the streets curious to see all and learn all they might and some especially where children were concerned remained in what they thought to be safe places. Upon the whole it may be said that the townsfolk behaved bravely and that the ‘specials’ did their duty as brave folk would expect them to do it. Next morning was given up by large numbers of people to investigation and gossip in regard to the visitation. Many persons without a doubt saw the Zepp, possibly two … That thousands of people on Tuesday and Wednesday and since have inspected these evidences of the nocturnal visit needs scarcely be stated. Hundreds have carried off souvenirs of the occasion in the form of bits of shrapnel etc. The prevailing feeling is astonishment – that the town should be thought worthy of attention and that so marvellous an escape from harm has been the townsfolk’s portion. As regards certain villages not far distant we find that eleven or twelve bombs of both kinds were dropped. Five explosions fell into waste heaps, two incendiaries struck the ground close to an old residence, an incendiary which did not explode found its billet in a field and three incendiaries dived into an immense waste pile. In no instance was any damage of note done, no building was struck, and no person was seriously injured. Marvellous is the only word that fits the circumstances.’
There were no direct casualties but the paper went on to report that ‘On Thursday afternoon an inquest was held in a little northern village on the body of a woman who died from shock during the raid. The woman, who was 49 years of age, had for some time past been suffering from heart trouble, for which she had been attended by a doctor. When the alarm was given on Monday night she along with other women and some children sought safety in a cellar in a garden near her home. She got over the shock of the first visit all right but when on the return journey an airship dropped an explosive bomb within 300 yards of her home she fainted and died in the arms of a neighbour a few minutes later. Although bombs were dropping all round the countryside, the deceased’s daughter bravely set out on her cycle through very lonely country to fetch a doctor, but her mother had passed away before the doctor arrived. The coroner expressed his deep sympathy with the husband and family and later in summing up the evidence, said that the poor woman’s death was directly due to the murderous barbarity of the enemy, that it was a disgusting and cruel shame. The jury unanimously returned the following verdict: “Died from shock due to fright owing to bombs dropped by an enemy airship near her home.”’
A Zeppelin crew prepares its load of bombs.
Having bombed Pontefract Park, the Zeppelin continued towards Leeds. After the war, a history of Leeds explained: ‘Another occasion when a Zeppelin airship came anywhere near Leeds – the night of Monday, November 27th, 1916 – its presence was made known by the sound of bombs dropped indiscriminately in Pontefract Park, 12 miles away, and the dull boom of the explosions was heard plainly on the north side of Leeds. The warning [was] given to the city… and many people spending the evening in town had scarcely reached their homes on the outskirts when, just at the hour of midnight, the explosions broke the silence of the night. It was not known until next day – and then only through gossip locally – that the alarm was caused by two Zeppelins which had been careering around the Barnsley district and were making their way back to the coast. One airship went off in the direction of Ferrybridge, and the other in a more northerly direction, passing over the V.A.D. hospital at Ledston Hall, and creating a diversion for the convalescent soldiers, many of whom turned out of bed to see all that was to be seen …’ ‘ We can never, of course, know what was in the mind of the officer in charge of the bomb dropping gear,’ wrote a Yorkshire Post correspondent afterwards. ‘He may have thought that he was over some of the big works of Leeds – only about 10 miles away – or he may merely have been in a hurry to finish his work and get home to breakfast. At any rate, in quick succession he rained incendiary bombs upon the unoffending turf of Harewood Park; and when day broke most of these were pulled up out of the damp soil like ripe turnips and formed a most interesting exhibition in the coach-house of the Harewood Arms. At the time, it was suggested that the commander of the Zeppelin knew more than he was generally credited with, and that in dropping these bombs he was merely endeavouring to carry out the principles of Applied Kultur, Harewood House being then in use as a Red Cross Hospital. The Germans probably knew that it was not defended by anti-aircraft guns, as were the arsenals of Leeds.” Having successfully disturbed the turf in the Park, and, by then, having only a few more bombs left, the raider turned eastwards for home. He may or may not have been able to see the houses of the hamlet. At any rate, as he was crossing the main road near to the principal gates of the Park, he dropped another incendiary bomb. This fell on the corner of the roof of a cottage, but with such ill-luck from the enemy’s point of view that on going through the tiles it sank into the water cistern, and was immediately extinguished. The impact of the falling bomb destroyed the cistern and flooded the bedroom below, but such damage can hardly be said to be worth even the cost of the bomb. The Zeppelin’s farewell to Harewood was another incendiary bomb which dropped into an empty hen-house belonging to Dr. Matthews.” “Over the line of Harewood Avenue, the Zeppelin came within view of the anti-aircraft gun station between East Keswick and Collingham, was picked up by the seachlight, and was fired upon, though without result. By way of acknowledgment the Zeppelin dropped its last two incendiary bombs, both of which fell in the field in which the gun was placed. An incendiary bomb dropping into a soft, damp meadow is not a very terrifying thing, and here, again, beyond a couple of holes in the turf, the Germans achieved nothing. Perhaps the greatest things that they might claim for their enterprise were that they had dropped quite a large weight of bombs on the estate of the Lord Lieutenant, the representative of the King in the West Riding, and had avoided running any very great risk themselves. That Leeds escaped was the more remarkable because on the same night a fire broke out at the Kirby Banks Screw Works, near Meadow Lane, and although soon subdued, was at its brightest when the Zeppelin was hovering over Wharfedale. It was, indeed, the flares which had been lit in Pontefract Park, to guide our aeroplanes there, that attracted so much attention in that particular neighbourhood. The night was exceedingly still; the sky was clear and star-lit; but the darkness which had been systematised all over the city ensured protection.’
The control gondola of a Zeppelin bomber.
The airship wandered on, first towards Leeds where anti-aircraft fire forced her to turn south until she reached the outskirts of Wakefield, dropping a high explosive and two incendiary bombs on Sharlston. The blackout was in force and the population had been warned by the lowering of gas pressure by the local corporation which meant gas lamps in homes across the borough went out. Already their colleagues aboard the L16 had passed overhead without dropping any bombs as it circled high above Wakefield and Barnsley before dropping its bombs randomly across the county. Now Kapitanleutnant Frankenburg, commander of the L21 and one of Germany’s most experienced bomber crewmen was lost. The bombs were not aimed at any particular target and very little damage was done before the ship passed on, flying over the Peak District and over Macclesfield before bombing towns in the Staffordshire potteries. His ship was later shot down off the coast of Yarmouth and crashed into the sea. There were no survivors.
In comparison to what was to come a generation later, the Zeppelin raids were little more than a nuisance but for a nation that had believed itself to be protected by the English Channel and the might of the Royal Navy, the threat of being attacked in their own homes brought shockwaves of terror through the population. The merest hint of a Zeppelin raid brought production in factories to a halt as workers fled to open countryside, believing that to be safer, although the German bombs fell more often into empty countryside than onto real targets. For both sides, this was a war of attrition. It was a war where destroying the enemy’s ability to fight was every bit as important than destroying his army. The aim of the raids was to create terror. If panic could be created among war workers then production would fall, as it did every time a raid or even a false alarm was reported. When Sheffield was bombed in September, hundreds of people had fled and wild tales of a city ablaze had spread. For nights afterward, families hiked out into the countryside to sleep in what they thought would be relative safety. Wakefield reacted with a mixture of bemusement and anxiety to its own near miss.
By the end of 1916, German submarines were targeting merchant ships at a rate of 100 per month. Heavily dependent on imports, Britain was facing starvation. Wheat was in short supply and the Ministry of Food issued a leaflet explaining: ‘I am a slice of bread. I measure 3 inches by 2½ and my thickness is half-an-inch. My weight is exactly an ounce. I am wasted once a day by 48,000,000 people of Britain … When you throw me away or waste me you are adding twenty submarines to the German Navy’. The Defence of the Realm Act was once again brought in to make wasting bread a criminal offence. Overnight, feeding ducks in the local park could lead to a jail sentence. ‘We must all eat less food,’ said the Ministry of Food, ‘especially we must all eat less bread and none of it must be wasted. The enemy is trying to take away our daily bread. He is sinking our wheat ships. If he succeeds in starving us our soldiers will have died in vain.’
