LIEUTENANT FREDERICK SOWREY, D.S.O., AND LIEUTENANT ALFRED BRANDON,
M.C., D.S.O.
The next raid over England by German airships took place on the
night of September 25, 1916. Twelve airships took part, but only ten
returned. One was brought down in flames not far from London, the crew
being killed; the second came down near the coast, and the crew were
made prisoners. Both of the airships were of the latest and largest
type.
An official report issued by Lord French stated that probably not more
than twelve airships participated in the raid. Police reports from the
provinces indicated that the damage done by the raiding airships was
slight. At one town in the East Midlands, however, a number of bombs
were dropped, and two persons were killed and eleven injured. Some
damage was caused at a railway station, and about a dozen houses and
shops were wrecked or damaged, and a chapel and a storehouse were set
on fire. With this exception no other casualties were reported outside
the Metropolitan area, and although a large number of bombs were
dropped promiscuously over the districts visited by the airships the
material damage was insignificant. A great number of bombs fell in the
sea or in open places. In the Metropolitan area seventeen men, eight
women, and three children were killed, forty-five men, thirty-seven
women and seventeen children being injured. A considerable number
of small dwelling-houses and shops were demolished or damaged, and
a number of fires were caused. Two factories sustained injury. Some
empty railway trucks were destroyed, and the permanent way was slightly
damaged in two places. No reports were received of any _military_
damage.
The first definite information that German airships were approaching
London was received shortly before eleven o’clock. No sooner was a
Zeppelin located than the guns opened fire with apparent accuracy,
considering the difficulty of estimating the range. Some of the shells
burst very close to the raider, and once it appeared to have been hit.
Anyway, after that it lost no time in seeking a higher altitude, where
it was lost to sight. Some minutes elapsed before the weird humming of
Zeppelin engines was heard again.
Two Zeppelins were now seen making their way in a north-easterly
direction. An anti-aircraft gun, which had been following or
anticipating their movements, opened fire. The gun was fired as fast as
it could be reloaded, and one or two others, at a little distance off,
joined in. But owing, perhaps, to their power of emitting dense smoke
clouds behind which to escape, the Zeppelins managed to elude their
watchers. But once more, after a brief interval, the sounds of the
engines could be heard above, and the airships could occasionally be
discerned at a great height, as they were revealed by the searchlights
making their way back to the coast at what seemed to be the utmost
speed of which they were capable. Whether the Zeppelin that was first
seen was one of the two which were hit afterwards is not known.
The guns for the defence of London now opened again sharply for a few
minutes, and as suddenly relapsed into silence. Faint searchlights
flickered here and there, and were withdrawn one or two at a time,
when it seemed there was nothing left aloft to search for. But the
fleeing Zeppelins were not having it all their own way. Their flight
was punctuated by gunfire, which became fainter the farther they went,
and they were also pursued by heroic airmen. Then miles away in the
distance, and not many degrees above the horizon, the sky began to glow
red. ‘Then there appeared the nucleus of a brilliant comet falling
headlong.’ It was visible only for a few seconds, but the spectators
raised loud cheers, for they knew that another raiding Zeppelin had
met with the fate it deserved so richly, and that another proof had
been given to the Germans that Zeppelin raids could not be made with
impunity.
Describing the fall in flames of the raider, a Metropolitan special
constable writes: ‘I was on duty on Monday, September 3, when the
Zeppelin was brought down at Cuffley, and again during the raid in the
early hours of yesterday morning (September 26). I had a particularly
clear, though distant, view of both events, which, though they
resembled one another in some respects, had at least one important
point of difference. When the Cuffley airship took fire she sailed
helpless across the sky, a blazing tomb drifting for miles through
the air at an angle which brought her steadily nearer to the ground.
That was the first stage. Then her nose dipped, the fire enveloped her
completely, and she fell almost perpendicularly; that was the last
stage. But this time the end came more swiftly. I watched one of the
Zeppelins under fire for some minutes; in the searchlight beams she
looked like an incandescent bar of white-hot steel. Then she staggered,
and swung to and fro in the air for just a perceptible moment of time.
That, no doubt, was the instant when the damage was done, and the huge
craft became unmanageable. Then, without drifting at all from her
approximate place in the sky, without any other preliminary, she fell
like a stone—first horizontally, then in a position which rapidly
became almost perpendicular she went down, a mass of flame.... From the
place where I was I could see and hear some of the rejoicings which
greeted the victorious end of this latest battle in the air. Policemen,
special constables, firemen, and ambulance men had their eyes turned
on the combat in the eastern sky, and cheered and cheered again.
From houses of all sorts men, women and children ran out in their
night-clothes to listen to the bombardment, and to stare at the vast
glow which for a few seconds lit up darker London.’
Another special constable writes: ‘The sky was so clear that the action
was apparently fought without the aid of searchlights. The gunfire was
continuous, deep and heavy. It in fact became so continuous that sense
of excitement faded away, and the people in the streets chatted about
home affairs without very much heed of what was going on to the east.
But air engagements have the quality of speed. Suddenly we were in the
great first act. A cry, a shout, a rush, and all eyes were fixed on the
eastern sky. An airship was seen for one moment ‘riding at anchor,’ as
it were, on level keel, and then it glowed and slowly turned and came
quietly down the eastern side a cigar-shaped, red, incandescent mass.
The fall seemed much slower than that of September 3, but the distance
was much greater, and refraction of the horizon distorted the image.
The fall seemed appallingly slow, and towards the end, as it reached
the skyline, the ruined airship hung and glowed for many seconds. Then
the great shout broke out, the cheering ran across London and must have
been heard on the outer hills and down the expectant Thames.’ Then
followed the eager rush of thousands of persons toward the scene.
A correspondent of the _Times_ has told how the wreckage lay athwart a
hedge with its lattice framework impaled on an oak-tree, looking like
the skeleton of some huge primaeval monster. ‘She had not fallen like
the ship which fell at Cuffley Wood. That one crumpled and telescoped
until it occupied a space little more than 30 yards square. This
lay with her nose crumpled and bent out of shape, but the framework
of girders and lattice was strong enough to hold together. All this
twisted mass of metal fell its length on the ground. As she lay it did
not seem that the fabric was burnt off the gaunt ribs until one noticed
pieces of molten aluminium and brass in the débris.
‘One realized the cost of such a craft looking even at the wreck.
Lying on the ground was a red leather cushion. This covered the seat
of the engineman, and the ghastly evidences still to be seen showed
that he died at his post. One at least of the petrol tanks had burst
in half, and the heat of the burning spirit had melted the broken
edges until they looked like some fine fretted lace. The airship was
built of aluminium girders, and some of the parts were almost massive,
although, of course, comparatively light. There were the remains of an
air mattress and a blanket, perhaps the bed for one of the night shift
when off duty.
‘Curious evidences of the crew’s breakfast still remained. There were
slices of bacon and hunks of brown greasy Kriegsbrod with delicately
sliced potatoes. Even with the subsequent unanticipated cooking the
breakfast was not done, so presumably the crew intended to have their
meal when they got clear of the coast.
‘One body was found far out in the field. This was the body of the
commander, for although his uniform was burned a little it was still
recognizable, and the badges were plain to see. He must have thrown
himself over before the ship took her headlong plunge. The other bodies
were all dressed in warm clothing, with thick felt boots. Several of
the bodies would have been easily recognizable to any one that had
known the men in life, but for the most part they were badly burned.
A working party of troops was put on to clear away the wreckage, and
it was thought that there were other bodies still under the piled-up
débris.’
The second raider came down in Essex. Her propeller had been hit,
presumably by gunfire, and with the ship unmanageable and the danger
of drifting out to sea, the commander was compelled to make a hasty
descent.
The special constable who was the first on the scene has given the
following account: ‘I was on duty near where the Zeppelin fell. I had
seen something about 300 yards away, and I was looking about expecting
some adventure, when a batch of Germans appeared in the roadway.
‘I turned my torchlight upon the leading man—the commander—who at
once said:
‘“Can you please tell us the way to——?”
‘I said, “Oh, yes; just come with me.” I walked with the commander, the
rest of the crew following, till I saw several other special constables
on duty.
‘The Germans jabbered mostly in their own language as we walked along,
but several could speak quite good English.
‘I asked them how they had managed to land safely.
‘“Were you hit?” I asked. One grudgingly said something like “Yah.” The
commander was less talkative about this, though.
‘By this time we were approaching my colleagues of the Special
Constabulary, and I told them what had happened.
‘Meanwhile I, of course, told the commander what was really unnecessary
under the circumstances—that he was my prisoner.
‘He asked to be brought over to the military. Accompanied by the
specials, the crew were handed over to the military.
‘They were taken in Red Cross motor-cars to the detention barracks.’
A labourer near whose cottage the Zeppelin fell, when interviewed by
the _Daily Mirror_, said that at about half-past one he was roused by
the loud drone of a Zeppelin engine—a noise to which residents of this
part of the North-east coast have now become accustomed.
He got out of bed and saw the huge bulk of an airship close overhead.
The vessel passed away, but then turned and soon descended in a field
near the back of his cottage. The crew got out; and then followed an
explosion.
‘It didn’t hurt any of us, but it smashed the front windows of my
house and those of my neighbours,’ said the man.
‘I found afterwards that all the hair was singed off the back of my
dog, which was in a kennel outside.
‘Then all the crew came to my cottage and started knocking at the door.
I never answered, and I heard the commander shouting. He spoke English,
and said something about the house.’
Asked if the German said ‘Kamerad,’ the labourer replied, ‘I don’t know
what else he said, but I put my wife and three children in a back room
and made myself scarce, too.’
The end of the airship dropped across the road which is by the cottage.
When the Zeppelin came down it was to all appearances intact, though
suffering fatally from engine trouble. It had a big bulge upwards
and downwards at the middle. Its full shape, however, was still well
outlined, though twisted in places. Its engines had dug well into the
earth, and a long, thin line indicated it had trailed along the ground
for some hundreds of yards before coming to rest outside the cottage.
It is now known that our heroic airmen dealt the death-blows to the
raiders. An inhabitant of a South London suburb relates that when our
searchlights had spotted the enemy, it was realized by the diminutive
appearance of the airship that it was far higher than any yet seen over
the outskirts of London. It was travelling quickly, for a time due
north, then north-east. Our airmen, hot in pursuit, were seen to be
making splendid progress. Not till the 5th of October were the names of
the heroic airmen made public. On the day named the following official
announcement was made:—
‘The King has been graciously pleased to appoint the undermentioned
officers Companions of the Distinguished Service Order in recognition
of their gallantry and distinguished service in connexion with the
successful attack on enemy airships:
‘Sec.-Lieut. Frederick Sowrey, Royal Fusiliers, attached R.F.C.
‘Sec.-Lieut. Alfred De Bath Brandon, M.C., R.F.C. Special Reserve.’
The valour and skill of the aviators was acclaimed on all sides. Lieut.
Sowrey, it may be said, is one of three flying brothers, sons of Mr.
John Sowrey, Deputy Chief Inspector of Inland Revenue, of Yeoveney
Lodge, Staines. Born at Gloucester, he was educated at home until he
was thirteen, when he won an open scholarship at King’s College School,
Wimbledon. Gaining two leaving scholarships, tenable at a university,
he went to King’s College, where he took the intermediate B. Sc. Degree.
He was finishing his graduate course when the war broke out. He at once
volunteered for service, and, joining the infantry, went out early to
the Western front. Wounded at Loos, he was invalided home, remaining
in hospital about three months. On leaving hospital he joined the
Flying Corps, for ‘anything with a motor connected with it had always
had a great attraction for him.’ He had Lieut. Robinson, V.C., as his
fellow-learner. He was taking a course for the Indian Civil Service
when the war called him into the fighting service.
Lieutenant Brandon is the young New Zealander who in April of the year
1915 assisted in bringing down the Zeppelin L15 in the Thames Estuary.
An advertisement of the Hall Flying School at Hendon brought him to
England. He answered the advertisement, and was immediately accepted as
a pupil. He gained his aeroplane ticket seven weeks after joining the
school. Previous to the war he was at Trinity College, Cambridge.
The battle fought by the airmen was of a thrilling nature. It is
recorded that a ‘ding-dong’ fight ensued, in which Lieut. Sowrey and
Lieut. Brandon manœuvred for position. Lieut. Sowrey had the best of
luck, and quickly seized his opportunity of emulating the feat of
Lieut. Robinson. Making splendid use of his machine gun, he sent a few
well-directed shots into the Zeppelin. Instantly the airship began to
turn and twist, and finally crashed to earth a blazing mass. Meanwhile
Lieut. Brandon stood by in case of emergency, and later attacked a
second raider, which was compelled to surrender.