Few people on this side of the Atlantic realise the nature of a Zeppelin raid.
I can scarcely describe the horror I felt as the bombs began to descend on their errand of destruction and murder. The searchlights began to hunt the air for signs of the airships, and soon we heard the sharp reports of our anti-aircraft guns along the Thames and also the big guns at London Bridge.
The roar of the guns was terrible, but nowhere did I see any fear shown by the populace. Children cried out, but no one could blame them for that. The streets were weirdly dark, and with the shaded street lamps and the shrill whistle of the taxis everything seemed to be mysterious.
We could not see the airships. They were so high up in the air that we could not even see a speck in the sky.
All at once the guns ceased to roar, and then the air raid was over. Casualties were few. In one house, where a number of poor people had taken shelter, the roof fell in and the building caught fire. Amongst the killed was a young clergyman who had been preaching to the people at this critical moment. At this house, the people had taken shelter in the basement, which they thought was safer than their own homes.
I was very much impressed with an old lady who kept a fish and chip shop. Her establishment had been partially destroyed. One-half of the window had been blown out and on the other half of the window was displayed a sign which read "Damn the Zeppelins. To Hell with the Kaiser. Fish and Chips as Usual." This shows the spirit of the women of Britain. You can't beat morale like that.
In this manner the Huns wage war, trying to weaken the morale of the people. If they would consider for one moment the spirit of a nation like England, who gave the dead crew of one of these destroyed Zeppelins a military funeral, they would realise that a nation which treats a dead enemy like this has a morale that can never be broken. Incidents like the foregoing make the people more determined than ever to push the war to a victorious and successful conclusion.
The morning after my arrival I called at the Canadian War Office—the Cecil Chambers, the Strand, London. I had a letter of introduction to Major General J. Carson, who was then the official representative of the Canadian War Office in England. I was there informed by Staff Captain Oulster that the General was in France, and that he, the Captain, could not tell me when he would get back. I therefore seized the opportunity to go to my home town in West Cumberland, being furnished with the necessary railway warrant. This I appreciated and needless to say I was very pleased to visit the town of my birth, although it was many years since I had left it. I still had friends there whom I was as glad to see as they were to see me. Whilst there, I had related to me the following incident:
On the west coast of Cumberland there is a small seaport town named Harrington, which is about four miles from where I was born. In this little town there are a number of blast furnaces, and adjacent to the furnaces there are some by-product works. The product made here is used, I suppose, in the making of munitions.
These by-product works had been erected several years ago by German workmen, all the foremen and managers being also German. After the work was completed many of these Germans remained in the immediate neighbourhood. Nobody at that time thought anything about it, but shortly after the war there was a rude awakening one morning. For this little town was shelled by a submarine that had penetrated up the Solway Firth with the object of destroying the by-product works. However the attack was unsuccessful.