1940s

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Manchester Guardian, 15 May 1941, 5

The remarkable flight to Scotland of Rudolf Hess still dominates the headlines today, though much more so in the Manchester Guardian (5) than in The Times, it must be said. More details are emerging. It now seems that Hess was trying to meet with one specific person, the Duke of Hamilton, whose seat is at Dungavel, just a few miles from where Hess landed by parachute.

The Duke is on active service, and was not at Dungavel on Saturday night. The Duke, who is the premier peer of Scotland, is 38, and succeeded to his title last year on the death of his father. He is best remembered for his boxing and flying achievements as Marquis of Douglas and Clydesdale, and he has met Hess through his sporting interests.

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The Times, 14 May 1940, 4

If there was a surprising absence of speculation yesterday about the reasons behind Hess's flight to Britain, that omission has been handsomely rectified in today's newspapers. The Times even goes so far as to declare in its headlines that Hess, 'essentially an idealist', was 'disillusioned' (4).

Why? He is believed first to have become more and more disgusted by the trickery and shamelessness of Hitler's entourage. More than that he is believed to have become horrified by the bloodshed which he saw around him and by the prospect (held out in Hitler's last speech) of still further bloodshed "wherever and whenever I command the German soldiers to march." In all his speeches Hess has glorified the power of the German Army, but always (much more than any other German leader) he has insisted that the true aim should be a final peace.

A further report (from the German frontier, based on 'Current gossip in Germany'!) notes that during Hitler's speech in the Reichstag on 4 May, Hess 'appeared detached, expressionless, and almost bored, and contrasting this with his habitual and profoundly devotional attitude towards Hitler' (3).
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Manchester Guardian, 12 May 1941, 5

Saturday night's heavy air raid on London damaged some of its greatest buildings. Parliament were hit hard: the House of Commons is 'wrecked', in the words of the Manchester Guardian today; Westminster Abbey is 'open to the sky' (5), though its structure is still intact. Other historic buildings were hit too. From The Times (4):

What some consider the most magnificent roof in the world -- that of Westminster Hall, with its soaring arches and sweeping beams of oak -- has been pierced by bombs, and damage has been done to the interior. The hall was started by William Rufus in 1097 [...]

Big Ben's face was blackened and scarred, but although the apparatus which broadcasts the chimes was for a time put out of action, the hands of the clock continued without interruption telling the time to Londoners.

The Deanery of Westminster, one of the best examples of medieval houses in England, has been destroyed [...]

The British Museum was set alight by a shower of incendiaries, which burnt through the roof and set fire to the back of the building [...] Fortunately most of the treasures had been removed to safety, and the damage was comparatively light.

Is it a sign of increasing indifference that the human cost of the raid is relegated to a few paragraphs at the end of the article, or is just that the destruction in the heart of London was something that could not be underplayed?
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Observer, 11 May 1941, 5

The lead story in the Observer today is one of those not-yet-news stories: an 'important pronouncement' on 'a more active policy' from President Roosevelt is 'expected' (5) on Wednesday. The implication is that this will bring America closer to war one way or another, something 'more than moral encouragement and material aid' for Britain. But it's just speculation, apart from some aggressive speeches made by his secretaries of state and of the navy, though perhaps it is based on some insider information. Who knows? The suggestion is that April's jump in Allied and neutral shipping losses (488,000 tons total), the highest monthly total for the war so far, has 'dispelled any possible illusion about the Battle of the Atlantic'. However, the Admiralty points out that 187,000 tons of this total was lost in the recent Mediterranean operations, much of it Greek shipping sunk in Greek ports. So it's not actually clear that this does represent a new stage in the Battle of the Atlantic. (Still, sunk ships are sunk ships.)
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Manchester Guardian, 10 May 1941, 7

Ten aircraft failed to return from Bomber Command's operations over Germany on Thursday night. Those losses are quite small in relation to the number of British aircraft involved in the raids on Hamburg and Bremen, between three and four hundred, 'certainly the largest number ever used in one night' according to page 7 of the Manchester Guardian.

Moon and weather favoured the attack, and the submarine and shipbuilding yards of both ports were heavily damaged. Pilots' individual reports speak of areas a mass of flames, in which it was impossible to distinguish separate fires, and of great explosions caused by our most powerful bombs being dropped into the heart of the fires.

The report in The Times (4) is more vivid and evocative, which seems to have inspired even the subeditor ('cities seared by fire').

In other industrial quarters of both towns there were widespread fires as well, and many other marks of devastation. At Hamburg a whole wharf was blazing as a single stick of bombs was seen to split open a row of buildings. Here smoke was rising to 10,000ft., and in another part of the town smoke rolled in black eddies and suggested the destruction of great stores of oil.

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Illustrated London News, 6 September 1913, 363

A recent post at Ptak Science Books alerted me to the existence of page 363 of the Illustrated London News for 6 September 1913. Not that I was surprised by this in general terms, but I was unaware of what was on it: an artist's impression of a both a flying aircraft carrier -- which idea I've discussed before -- and an airship drone -- which I haven't.

As the images above and below show, the idea was that the 'parent dirigible' (which looks very much like a Zeppelin) would carry several of these 40-foot long 'crewless, miniature air-ships' slung underneath it, and then launch them when in range of a target (here a fortification). The smaller airship would then be controlled by radio to fly drop its bombs 'on any desired spot'.
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I don't usually do pathos for the sake of pathos, but while reading Juliet Gardiner's The Blitz: The British Under Attack (London: Harper Press, 2010), 316, I came across an account of loss which I've read before, and which I still find as moving as I did the first time. The speaker is an elderly air raid warden from Hull.

The street was as flat as this 'ere wharfside -- there was just my 'ouse like -- well, part of my 'ouse. My missus was just making me a cup of tea when I come 'ome. She were in the passage between the kitchen and the wash 'ouse where it blowed 'er. She were burnt right up to her waist, 'er legs were just two cinders. And 'er face -- the only thing I could recognise 'er by was one of 'er boots -- I'd have lost fifteen homes if I could 'ave kept my missus. We used to read together. I can't read mesen. She used to read to me like. We'd have our armchairs on either side o' the fire, and she read me bits out o' the paper. We'd a paper every evening. Every evening.

The original source -- via Angus Calder's The People's War: Britain 1939-1945 (London: Pimlico, 1992 [1969]), 226-7 -- is Mass-Observation report 844, Hull, 23 August 1941, 5.

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Over the years, I've written a number of posts about various phantom airship scares (which I take here to mean things seen in the sky which weren't actually there). There are many more I might do in future, pending access to good sources (and maybe I'll even get around to writing something for publication!) but it seems worth collecting the links together at this point.

Count Zeppelin clearly has a lot to answer for.

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The Battle of Los Angeles took place on the night of 24 February 1942. It was more of a 'battle' than a battle: only one side did any shooting, and it's not at all clear that there was a second side. The defenders of Los Angeles thought there was: they claimed they were shooting at aircraft of mysterious (but presumed to be Japanese) origin. This is where I come in.

The incident is mainly known now by a photograph showing ... something... trapped in searchlight beams, which appeared in the Los Angeles Times on 26 February 1942. Its authenticity has never been questioned, but it was clearly heavily retouched. Recently, an earlier copy of the photo turned up in the archives of the LA Times. It's definitely been retouched less, if at all. I'm not even going to reproduce the better-known-but-retouched version (which can be seen elsewhere); instead, here's the newly-found-and-less-retouched version:

Battle of Los Angeles

This photo (or rather its retouched version) has been used to argue that there was in fact ... something... over Los Angeles that night (most likely an extraterrestrial spaceship, obviously). Unlike Kentaro Mori, I do think there is... something... there. But it's not a Zeta Reticulan battlecruiser. It's a cloud.
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