Another narrative of great interest as showing the aspect of London immediately following its occupation by the Germans was that of a middle-aged linotype operator named James Jellicoe, employed on the Weekly Dispatch, who made the following statement to a reporter of the Evening News. It was published in the last edition of that journal prior to the suppression of the entire London Press by Von Kronhelm. He said:
“When the barricades in North London had been stormed by the Germans, and they had fought their way down to Oxford Street and Holborn, I chanced to be in Farringdon Street. Right through the bombardment during the whole afternoon we compositors on the Mail, the Evening News, and the Dispatch were compelled to work, and it had been a most exciting time, I can tell you. We didn’t know from one moment to another when a shell might fall through the roof among us. Two or three places in Whitefriars were struck, and Answers’ office in Tudor Street had been burned out. I had left work at eleven and gone to meet my boy Frank, who is on the Star in Stonecutter Street, intending to take him home to Kennington Park Road, where I live, when I first caught sight of the Germans. They were passing over the Viaduct, marching towards the City, while some of them ran down the steps into the Farringdon Road, ranging themselves along beneath the Viaduct as guards, in order to protect it, I suppose. They seemed a tall, sturdy, well-equipped body of men, and entirely surprised me, as they did the other people about me, who now saw them for the first time. I had been setting up ‘copy’ about the enemy for the past ten days or so, but had never imagined them to be such a sturdy race as they really were. There was no disorder among them. They obeyed the German words of command just like machines, while up above them marched battalion after battalion of infantry, and troop after troop of clattering cavalry, away to Newgate Street and the City.
“I heard it said that the Lord Mayor had already been taken a prisoner, and that the streets of the City proper were swarming with Germans. A quarter of an hour later I called for my boy, and together we made our way back along New Bridge Street to Blackfriars Bridge, when, to my amazement, I found such a great press of people flying south that many helpless women and children were being crushed to death. There was a frightful scene, illuminated by the red glare of the
flames devouring St. Paul’s Station. The railway bridge was thus cut off, otherwise it might have considerably relieved the frantic traffic. After half a dozen futile attempts to get across—for it seemed that there were two human tides meeting there, persons desirous of re-entering London after the bombardment, and those flying in terror from the enemy—I resolved to abandon it. Therefore, with my boy Frank, I walked along the Embankment until I got close to Waterloo Bridge, when, as I approached the great single arch that spans the roadway, I noticed a boat containing three men shoot out into the river from beneath the wall, close to where we were walking. It slipped silently beneath the shadow of the second arch, where there was some scaffolding, the fine old bridge being under repair.
“The bridge above was just as crowded as that at Blackfriars, the throng struggling both ways, meeting and fighting among themselves for the mastery. In those frantic efforts to cross the river, men and women had their clothes literally torn from their backs. The men were demons in that hour of terror; the women became veritable furies. On the Embankment where I stood in the shadow, however, there were few persons. The great fires in the Strand threw their reflection upon the surface of the water, but the Savoy, Somerset House, and the Cecil also threw great black shadows. The mysterious movements of the three men beneath the bridge attracted me. They had rowed so suddenly out just as we passed that they startled me, and now my curiosity became aroused. Concealed in the deep shadow I leaned over the parapet, and watching saw them make fast the boat to the scaffold platform on a level with the water, and then one man, clinging to the ladder, clambered up into the centre of the arch beneath the roadway. I could not distinctly see what he was doing, for he was hidden among the scaffolding and in the darkness.
“Presently a second man from the boat swung himself upon the ladder and ascended to his companion on the platform above. I could distinguish them standing together, apparently in consultation. Close to me was the pier of the Thames Police, and both of us slipped down there, but found nobody in charge. The police, Metropolitan, City, and Thames, were all engaged in the streets on that memorable night. Nevertheless, the trio beneath the bridge were acting suspiciously. What could we do? German secret agents had committed many outrages during the past ten days, more especially in blowing up bridges and wrecking public buildings with bombs, in order to disorganise any attempt at resistance, and strike terror into the hearts of Londoners. A bomb had been exploded on the terrace of the House of Commons two days before, causing great havoc, while the entrance hall of the Admiralty had also been wrecked. Penge tunnel had, by explosives, been rendered impassable, and an attempt in the tunnel at Merstham had very nearly been successful. Were these suspicious men engaged in the dastardly act of blowing up Waterloo Bridge?
“It suddenly struck me that it might be part of Von Kronhelm’s scheme to blow up certain of the bridges in order to prevent those who had fled south from returning and harassing his troops, or else he wished to keep the inhabitants remaining north of the Thames, and prevent them from escaping. As I stood upon the police pier I saw the two men high upon the scaffold motion to the third man, still in the boat, when, after a few moments the last-named individual left the boat, carrying something very carefully, an object looking like a long iron cylinder, and slowly made his way up the perpendicular ladder to where the pair were standing right beneath the crown of the huge arch.
“Then I knew that they were Germans, and realised their foul intention. A few feet above them hundreds were fighting and struggling, all unconscious of that frightful explosive they were affixing to the arch. What could I do? To warn the crowd above was impossible. I was far below, and my voice would not be heard above the din.
“ ‘What are those fellows doing, do you think, father?’ inquired my boy, with curiosity.