Death on our Doorstep

A Zeppelin bomber.

In 1982 I was nine years old and attended Firs Estate Junior School. The school itself was no more than five minutes away from my house, so every day I came home for my lunch before returning back to school for my afternoon lessons.

It was one particular lunchtime as I walked through the back door and into the kitchen that I got hurriedly shushed by my mother. She was listening intently to the radio until she eventually explained that we were now at war with Argentina in what became known as the Falklands War.

I followed the news of the war as best I could at that age, and I was struck by how far away everything was happening and wondered what it must be like for those who actually lived there.

It all felt very far away again a few years later when I was 17 and the Gulf War was beamed live to our TVs, but again I wondered what it would feel like if a seemingly far away war suddenly got closer to home. The other day I came across an article regarding the Zeppelin air raid on Derby in World War One and a thought formed in my head.

What must it have been like to realise that a far away war might now suddenly be on your doorstep?

World War One had commenced – from a British perspective - on August 4, 1914 but it wasn’t until 1916 that Derby, for the very first time, saw the death and destruction of the war arrive squarely on its doorstep.

German Zeppelins had begun their attacks on England in 1915 and over the course of that year and the following year there had been 52 raids which had killed 556 people and injured 1,357. However, it was just after midnight on February 1, 1916 that the terror of the Zeppelin bombs hit Derby.

The Zeppelin in question was lost and under the command of Captain Alois Boeker. It was part of multiple airships that had intended to attack Liverpool and Birmingham. Zeppelins however were slow and lumbering and not one of them had got nearer to Liverpool than Stoke before beginning to turn back.

It was whilst one of the airships was over Derby just after midnight that it dispatched its remaining 21 high explosive bombs and four incendiaries at nine various locations on the south side of the town.

The town had received warning about a possible impending air raid just after 7pm the previous evening. Measures such as dousing street lighting, halting tramcars and closing businesses had been quickly enacted and when three airships passed close by shortly after it was thought that the precautions had been successful. Confidence in their success lead to the measures being relaxed just before midnight with the resulting light convincing Captain Boeker that he had reached Liverpool. He therefore released his bombs.

Four men died when nine high explosive bombs were dropped near to the No 9 Shed of the Loco Works - 32-year-old fitter William Bancroft of Strutt Street, 23-year-old Henry Hithersay of Devonshire Street and 54-year-old engine driver James Gibbs Hardy, also of Strutt Street, died that night with 48-year-old fitter Charles Henry Champion of Fleet Street dying three days later from his injuries. A Mrs Constantine – a former schoolmistress - who lived nearby, also died that night of a heart attack during the raid.

Five bombs were also dropped on the Carriage and Wagon Works, three bombs - two high-explosive and one incendiary - fell near to the gasworks on what is now Pride Park, while other bombs landed on the corner of Bateman Street, the Metalite Lamp Works on Graham Road, Fletcher’s Lace Mill on Osmaston Road and on Horton Street.

With their full quota of bombs dispatched, Captain Boeker and his crew returned home for a debriefing at which they reported – mistakenly - that they had bombed Liverpool.

On February 3, the Derby Daily Telegraph reported that across England 33 men, 20 women and six children had been killed in the raids.

Derby would again be bombed in World War Two, but this was perhaps the first time in centuries that war had truly presented itself on our doorsteps.