Story of the Bombardment of the Hartlepools

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21396, 20 October 1934, Page 5 (Supplement)

Story of the Bombardment of the Hartlepools

ONLY a week to" Christmas. The shops of the Hartlepools were taking on a festive ap-

pearance. The children of the towns, uncomprehending the gravity of the four-month-old European war, were looking eagerly forward to the twenty-fifth. In the houses there was much preparation. There were puddingstirring and cake making and parcelpacking, for large consignments of Christmas fare were being sent to husbands and sons at the front. The Hartlepools were flourishing. It was a period of unprecedented prosperity-how different from these days of industrial stagnation and unemployment distress—for the shipbuilding yards had in hand orders that would, working day and night, take two years and more to execute.

A Merry Laughing Trio The Hartlepools dinned with the clang of the riveters' hammers, the dockyards were hives of industry, the brilliant glare of blasting furnaces never dulled. , . I was then living in Hartlepool, which is separated from WesV Hartlepool by the docks and shipbuilding vards, near the seashore. Here is a maze Of densely populated, streets with small semi-detached houses, chiefly inhabited by working people, £ ont f d J# the two batteries known as Heugh and Lighthouse, which were Hartlepool s main war-time defence. i Shortly before 8 a.m. on December 16 1914, I stood at the door of my house to see my three children, Peter, aged nine, Matthew, who was six and a-half, ana little Elizabeth, a mere toddler of three and a-half, on their way to school. „ . . , , a™,,. My husband had ]omed the Army a Veek before, and was stationed at Jarrow. We expected him home on leave for Christmas, for a fourth little one was expected shortly. The children were looking forward to Christmas, with their s°idier ■■'daddy." Their little gifts for him had already been bought and careful ly stored away. They were a merry, laughing trio, and as they turned the corner at the bottom of William Street they waved their hands to me. Boom of Distant Guns Little did I think then that it was to be the last farewell of two of them and that the youngest would meet a fate more terrible even than swift had they disappeared from sight that there was the deep boomt of distant heavy firing. At first I attached little importance to this, as faring pra tice off that part of the coast was frequent, and the residents of the Hart epools had become accustomed to ana unalarmed by it. , , But as the minutes passed and the noise grew closer a fearful suspicion gripped me. There had been many rumours of possible bombardment and invasion of the east coast by the enemy, but no one had taken them seriously. Yet now it seemed that perhaps after all something of the sort was imminent. Almost at the same moment there j burst on my, ears a loudor and nearer detonation which shook the house to its : very foundations. An instant later followed a terrific shattering that seemed to beat into my brain. Soldier's Frantic Warning 1 rushed to my door. At that moment there raced down the street a soldier, his face streaming with blood, his tunic torn, yelling warnings to the inhabitants of the houses who by now had hurried to their doors and windows to see what the noise was about. " The Germans are here —on top of us," he gasped. " Get out with those children of yours, for God's sake, Mrs. Whitecross." " If you don't believe me, all 1 cau sav is that mv mate down there at the battery hasn't a head," he burst out grimly. " They're firing on us as hard as they can." Again and again came that dreadful bursting roar of close-bv gunfire, to the accompanying rattle of shattering masonry. Now the noise of splitting houses seemed a good distance away, the next a deafening crash would indicate that it was only a few yards off, • and within a' few seconds 'a cloud of dust and particles of debris would descend on the roadway. It is hard to give a clear account of one's thoughts and actions during a crisis of this kind. But I do remember that after the soldier's warning I ran through the streets in the direction * taken by my children a few minutes before. Everywhere was chaos. People rushed hither * and thither, not knowing whether to stay indoors or to leave their homes' for safety. Alothers were grabbing their children and running with them toward the back of the town, instinctively drawn to the open

—TWENTY YEARS AFTER rWENTY years ago the Empire began the four most tremendous years of her history. Strange and perilous things happened in those four years—things of which the full facts were never really known. This is the third of a short series of articles in which actual survivors will tell their stories of the dramas in which they were suddenly called to play a part, and of the events that will remain the outstanding memories of their lives. To-day a Hartlepool mother describes what happened on that morning in 1914 when, a few moments after her children had left home to go to school, three German warships rained shells upon the town.

country. Many raced into the sea and stood waist deep in the shelter of the pier. Some fell as they ran, hit by pieces of flying shell and falling debris as shot after shot was hurled among the houses. It was as though some evil power was striking them down. At one moment they would be running along the pavement; the next, with.a hideous scream, they would roll over and over into the gutter In a few minutes usually quiet and peaceful thoroughfares had been made to resemble a Flanders battlefield. Helpers already filled the streets, oblivious of their own danger, it seemed. The dead were placed reverently by the roadside, ithe helpers then hurrying on to aid the injured where there was still hope. Shrapnel rained everywhere. Dead Son Found It was nt a spot where four streets converge that I found my Peter, flung arms outspread into gutter, face upwards. I could see that he was dead. But what of the others? At that moment two soldiers came up to me. " This is no place for you, Mrs. Whitecross," they said. And, because I felt as though all the life had gone out of me, I let them lead me away to a cellar into which women and children were being herded by the military and the injured were being carried by St. John Ambulance workers. We seemed to be imprisoned down there hours. It was like being in some medieval dungeon. The injured were moaning for water, but there was none excepting in an old rainwater butt in the corner. They drank from this. All this time we could hear firing going on above. At every moment we expected the house to come crashing down on us. Then the noise ceased as suddenly as it had started. Shortly afterwards a policeman arrived and took us to the police station, which was being used as a temporary hospital. Never shall I forget the sight there.

Rows and rows of wounded were lying on the floor waiting to be conveyed to Hartlepool Hospital. There were pitiful scenes —women calling for their children, others begging to be taken away. One small boy—named Christopher Measor —who seemed to be badly injured, gave a wan smile of recognition when he saw me. With difficulty he raised himself from the floor on his elbow. " You know me, Mrs. Whitecross, don't you?" he said weakly.' " Of course I do, Christopher," I said. " I want you to tell my mother when you see her that I love her," he said. He managed to kneel, and putting his hands together began the .Lord's Prayer. But he never finished it. By noon the work of attending to the wounded was well in hand. Hartlepool Hospital was soon filled to overflowing. Two, and even three, of the less serious cases were put into one bed. Some lay on mattresses in the corridors. Ordinary patients were transferred to the outpatients' department. A number of buildings besides the police station were turned into temporary liospitals. The workhouse took fifty cases. Terrible Shell Wounds Every doctor and nurse in Hartlepool and the surrounding towns and villages gave willing aid to the injured, many of whose wounds were indescribably terrible. More than twenty people died before they coukl be operated on. The medical staff at the hospital found themselves faced with a grave difficulty, for the chemical constituents of the German shells carried a poison which discoloured the flesh and prevented healing, In many instances this made it impossible to save wounded '"while the work of looking after the injured was going on inside the hospitals the task of clearing the wreckage was being- carried on. This unexpected raid by the Germans.had caused tremendous havoc. In nearly every street at least one house.was wrecked; in some a whole row was demolished. Great holes gaped in the walls, masses of laths and slates lay across the roadways, for whole roofs had been lifted olf bv the high velocity shells. One shell had hit the Carnegie Library, sending a great stone cornerpiece ana chunks of ornamental masonry hurtling into the street below, where they fell on a group of people who were seeking shelter, killing several of them. Several churches were hit, including St. Hilda's, a thirteenth-century edifice, and one of the finest examples of ecclesiastical architecture in the uorth. Stonework on St. Mary's Church was also badly damaged, and a shell passed right through the Baptist Church iccdntly rebuilt —causing tremendous havoc. It finally penetrated the bedroom of a. house which was also damaged. The Scandinavian Church, too. was hit. West Hartlepool suffered no less damage, although there the deaths and casualties were not so heavy.' Two of the German battle cruisers had momentarily relaxed their bombardment of

By Mrs. Ellen Whitecross Whose two sons were killed by German shells and whose daughter died from injuries received after long suffering.

Hartlepool and turned their attention to the docks and shipbuilding yards separating the two towns. But although a number of hits were made many of the shells " cleared " the docks and exploded in the streets of West Hartlepool. The enemy seemed to direct their shots haphazard, without definite aim. Many fell into the water of the docks. At one shipyard two men were killed and the electrical and riggers' shops were set alight. A partly-built steamer was hit. by a shell which pierced her hold and killed a workman. My own little girl, I afterwards learned, was taken in by a kindly neighbour. Her brothers had been struck down with the shells. Later this neighbour fled with her family to the country, and it was not until late that night, when many were forced to return to the stricken town for shelter, that little Elizabeth was brought back and carried to the hospital to be laid, at the request of Matthew —who died shortly afterwards from terrible wounds —in the same bed as he occupied. Exodus to Country Poor Elizabeth lived for five years after the bombardment, but they were years of agonising suffering. It was found that numberless small particles of shrapnel had lodged in her body, and her whole system was impregnated with the poison from those dreadful shells. ' The scenes among those who were brave enough to remain on in the town were no less painful. People stood despairingly in groups before their ruined homes. Many of them had lost a parent, son, or a daughter. In several cases a whole family had been wiped out. All day the railway stations were besieged uv panic-stricken people determined at all costs to get away from the district, even though it meant leaving their homes as they stood. Some set out to walk to Stockton and Darlington. It was a_ pathetic procession that trudged its way into the country on that dreary December 1 morning. Some wheeled perambulators. Some carried dogs under their arms, or canaries m cages. There were others with bundles containing a few cherished treasures snatched up before leaving. Many wcro clad only in their night clothes and were even barefooted. They were given food and drink on the way by sympathetic farmers and others. Christmas fare ready for thf>

following week was distributed among the refugees. There were bewildered children who had lost their parents or who had been hustled out of the danger zone in the dreadful stampede that followed the firing of the first shots. The second shell fired by one of the three German ships—the first was aimed at the Heugh Battery, and killed the first soldier to meet his death on British .soil at the hand of the enemy in the Great War—struck the upper floor of a near-by house. Two spinsters lived there. One of them was in the passage on her way to her sister's bedroom, disturbed from her slumbers, no doubt, by the sudden noise outside.

A piece of the shell struck one sister, inflicting terrible wounds and killing her instantly. When, after the bombardment, neighbours went to search for the second sister, they could not at first find her. She had been blown to pieces. The German warships—two battle cruisers and one armoured cruiser took part in the attack —were met as they came into the bay by four British destroyers, which opened fire on them. This accounted for ' the distant firing which the Hartlepools had heard before the ships emerged from the mist that hung over the sea. British Gunners' Reply But the four-inch guns of the British ships were entirely inadequate against those of the Germans, and they were forced to retire after three of their crew had been killed and several injured. All excepting one of the ships were badly damaged. Suddenly the leading German ship had turned round and opened fire on Heugh Battery. A shell exploded against the corner of the low wall forming the boundary between Heugh Battery and the pathway dividing it from the other battery, killing the sentry and three men of the Durham Light Infantry Regiment, which had provided the battery guard, and wounding several others. It was one of the wounded men who first conveyed to me the news of the impending attack on the town. Despite the shock which these swift casualties must have had on the garrison gunners, they immediately opened

fire. So began the first battle between a British battery on British soil and an enemy fleet at sea.

To every enemy shell sent over there was an answer. The officer commanding the gunners, Colonel L. liobson, ordered them to aim higher—at the decks of the enemy craft. Onlookers who watched the battle from points on the coast have said that the bridge of one of the German vessels • —the Blueher, later sunk by us—was carried away by one of our shells. Many of the crews on board the German vessels were seen to fall.- * Toll on Both Sides The Germans, in fact, later admitted in official reports that their casualties in this battle amounted to 90 killed and 210 wounded. But, despite the gallant fight put up by our batteries, the German ships persisted in their bombardment of Hartlepool for fifty minutes, during which timo 1500 shells were fired into the town,* causing 113 deaths—many died later from their injuries—and wounding 427. The German ships returned home in a northerly direction, scattering mines as they went, in consequence of which three ships were destroyed off the coast a few hours later. It was a sad Christmas for Hartlepool. There was littlo of the festive spirit of-the season bohind the shattered windows and cracking walls of those dwellings. Brickwork was pitted with shell splinters, doors hung limply on their hinges, slates and tiles lay in heaps by the roadside. To a street which in less than an hour had become as desolated as any of those of the sacked cities of Belgium I returned the day after the bombardment. My children had gone, my home was badly damaged, and in a few hours another life was coming into the world behind a roughly boarded window in a room-where the crumbled debris of dislodged ceilings still lay thickly on the furniture. • Next week a vivid description of the scenes following the Zeppe i: a raid on the Strand, London, on the night of October 13, 1915, '.vUl be given by James Wickham. who was call-boy at the Gaiety Tlieatre that night.