CHAPTER XII

LIEUTENANT W. K. TEMPEST, D.S.O.

Concerning the raid over England by hostile airships which took place on the night of October 2, 1916, the official report issued by Lord French was to the effect that ten hostile airships crossed the East Coast between nine p.m. and midnight. One airship approached the north of London about ten p.m., but was driven off by gunfire and pursued by aeroplanes. She attempted to return from the north-west, but was attacked by guns and aeroplanes and brought to earth in flames in the neighbourhood of Potter’s Bar shortly before midnight.

[Footnote 1: The _Times_, Oct. 3, 1916.]

An eye-witness of the fall of the airship writes[1]: ‘I live in the country just outside the fringe of the great searchlights which guard the London area. From the verandah of the house one can obtain a wonderful view of any “pyrotechnic” display within a distance of twenty odd miles. The household is most familiar with Zeppelins, aeroplanes, bombs, guns, and searchlights. We have seen all the raids, we have seen three Zeppelins destroyed, and bombs have fallen all round us; but happily our little district has so far escaped damage. So accustomed are we to all these aerial affairs that we seem to know instinctively when a raid is due. And it was so on Sunday. The sky at eight o’clock looked very ominous. Some time later came the warning to the special constables, and at the same time the sky in our immediate neighbourhood was lit up by powerful rays from searchlights. I rightly surmised that the Zeppelin would attempt to reach London from the north. By now (I live close to the railway) the searchlights were sweeping the cloudless sky, and the air was quite still. About half-past ten we heard the beat of the Zeppelin engines; she was due north of the house. Then she sailed towards the east. The night was so clear that she was seen quite easily. With the aid of a night glass she appeared about a yard long.

‘By the sound of her engines we could tell she was circling the fringe of light, for she gradually altered her course from east to south-east. Then we heard her wheel round to the left. She made a circle of some miles, and finally went south-east again, when we heard the engines no more. Meanwhile my children, two girls, aged eight and eleven, insisted on dressing: they wanted to “see the show.” With their mother they made themselves comfortable on the verandah. About half-past eleven, away to the south-east, we saw flashes from falling bombs, and the bursting of shrapnel, with the boom of heavy guns firing. The children were getting very interested. Suddenly a score of searchlights seemed to concentrate at one point, and quite distinctly we saw the Zeppelin “held.” Shrapnel was bursting all around her. Then the guns ceased, and we could see no Zeppelin. We thought she had managed to slip away. But our airmen were on her track, and soon there appeared a yellow light; it became larger and larger, until we realized that it was the Zeppelin alight. From yellow the flames changed to ruby; they seemed to spread from the centre to each end of the airship. When she was aglow from end to end she tilted, gradually became perpendicular, and fell slowly to earth. The flames lit up the country for miles; the framework of the machine was plainly visible. You could see smaller portions of her ribs, loosened by the heat, falling like small sparks. She fell five miles from my house, but I thought I heard the whole of England cheering.’

Another witness, who watched the coming of the raider from the north-east, has given the following account: ‘What struck me was the evident uncertainty of the crew as to where they were, or where they wanted to go. They stopped; they turned this way and that; they manœuvred in every direction in order to avoid the searchlights which were darting about all round them. But it was all to no purpose. The way in which the great beams of light followed the airship in all its desperate efforts to escape was really wonderful. A few moments passed, and the guns began to shell the Zeppelin. The shells burst all round—some of them so near that it seemed as though hits had been scored. Then, in a moment, a bright light burst out in the body of the airship, and in another moment she was a mass of flame from end to end. She seemed to turn over on her side, and then gradually sink to earth. While coming down, she broke into halves, and during the descent she threw off huge bunches of some flaming material. From the great height at which she had been floating it was impossible to tell where she would come down, and for some moments the onlookers did not know but that she might fall upon them. But the blazing remains plunged at length behind some trees, and that is the last we saw of her.’

The nearest view of this fourth airship débacle on British soil was enjoyed by a farmer at Potters Bar, on whose farm the Zeppelin came down. He has given the following interesting account: ‘We were awakened by the sound of the guns, and we got up. I went into my garden, and from where I stood the Zeppelin seemed to be right overhead. Thinking that she might be preparing to drop bombs, I brought my wife and two children into the garden away from the house. We had not been watching it many moments before the airship suddenly burst into flame. It was then apparently right over my house, and looked as though it would fall right across the roof. It was burning furiously, and blazing masses were flying away from it during its descent. I shouted to my wife to be prepared to run out into the road in case it should fall upon the house. But as it got lower and lower—it did not seem to fall very quickly—I saw it would fall into the fields behind my farm buildings. I ran through the stable yard and down a by lane leading to some grass fields. In the corner of one of these were some large haystacks, and I was afraid that these might be set on fire. When I reached the spot I found they were all right; but about 200 yards away the remains of the Zeppelin lay blazing furiously. I dared not go very near to it for two reasons: one was that the heat was very great, and another was that ammunition of some kind was exploding at intervals. I afterwards discovered that this was machine-gun ammunition, a large quantity of which seems to have been carried, for some was found in boxes unexploded. I only saw one bomb drop before the Zeppelin came down, but others were found among the débris. The Zeppelin had broken into two pieces. The larger half was hanging over a big oak tree, which stood in the middle of the field. I saw some dead bodies lying about. One appeared to be that of an officer, for I could see gold stripes on the arm of his coat. Another was wearing the Iron Cross. Some of them had wrapped themselves up in blankets, evidently trying to avoid the flames. I had a herd of valuable dairy cows in the field, and these were very much alarmed at the blazing Zeppelin. They galloped round the field in terror, and one of them seemed determined to rush into the burning mass. I had some difficulty in keeping her away, and I was very glad when the fire brigade came on the scene and began to throw water on the ruins.’

There were many interesting incidents connected with the fall of this airship. An Iron Cross was picked up close by. The commander of the airship was wearing a wrist watch which had stopped at 1.20 (German time). One member of the crew, whose body was recovered, appeared to be a boy of sixteen or seventeen years of age. The heat of the wreckage was so great that full search was impossible till over twelve hours had elapsed after the fall. No less than thirty-nine bombs were dropped over one small area to the north of London. Most of the bombs fell, however, in fields and meadows.

The airship was thwarted in its evil designs by our heroic airmen. In the course of a few days it was officially announced that Second-Lieutenant Wulstan Joseph Tempest, General List and Royal Flying Corps, had been appointed a Companion of the D.S.O., in recognition of conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty in connexion with the destruction of an enemy airship.

On the fateful day Lieutenant Tempest had finished his regular duties, and was spending the evening with friends at a dinner party. Before the meal was over a call reached him, and a few minutes later he was back at his aerodrome.

He made a speedy start, with the idea of intercepting the airship, which was reported to be approaching. He had soon reached a height of upwards of 10,000 feet. He manœuvred around unwearying in a protracted vigil. At the end of two hours a searchlight picked out the airship and persistently stuck to it, despite its efforts to get beyond the focus of the beam. Soon other searchlights added to the volume of illumination, and anti-aircraft guns began to pepper at the airship.

In a moment a great sheet of fire swept along the airship, and it began to fall at a speed increasing as the law of gravitation came into play. Immediately after the Zeppelin caught fire Lieut. Tempest travelled the complete length of the airship from stem to stern, being parallel with it all the time. Then he began to descend. But the falling airship hampered his movements very considerably. Once or twice he narrowly escaped collision with the flaming mass, and in order to avoid this he was compelled to resort to nose-diving.

The work had been done under tremendous strain, but Lieut. Tempest fortunately escaped injury of any kind. The spot where he landed was miles away from the place where he had first taken the air. Without troubling to examine the burning airship, which had fallen not far away, Lieut. Tempest was driven back to his home station in a side-car, arriving about 2.30 a.m. Here he received a tremendous welcome from his brother-officers as the third man of the same flight who had brought down a Zeppelin.

Lieutenant Tempest was born on January 22, 1890. He was educated at Stonyhurst, and afterwards entered the Mercantile Marine and received training on the _Worcester_. He learned to fly at one of the military schools, taking his pilot’s certificate on May 22 of the year of his heroic deed. He had previously been attached to the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, and was invalided home after fighting in France last year at Ypres. For nearly twenty-four hours he was buried in a dug-out, and as a consequence he is still liable to attacks from rheumatic gout. The experience also left him a little lame, but he still retains great skill and courage, and certainly takes high rank amongst our heroic aviators.