Triumph and Tragedy (The Second World War) by Winston S. Churchill Page A
Authors: Winston S. Churchill
Ads: Link
Green where it killed six people and injured nine; the others caused no casualties. Nothing further happened until late on June 15, when the Germans started their campaign of “retaliation” (Vergeltung) in earnest. More than two hundred of the missiles came against us within twenty-four hours, and over three thousand were to follow in the next five weeks.
The Flying Bomb, as we came to call it, was named “VI” by Hitler, since he hoped — with some reason — that it was only the first of a series of terror weapons which German research would provide. To Londoners, the new weapon was soon known as the “doodlebug” or “buzz bomb” from the strident sound of its engine, which was a jet of new and ingenious design. The bomb flew at speeds up to four hundred miles an hour, and at heights around three thousand feet, and it carried a ton of explosive. It was steered by a magnetic compass, and its range was governed by a small propeller which was driven round by the passage of the bomb through the air. When the propeller had revolved a number of times which corresponded to the distance of London from the launching site, the controls of the missile were tripped to make it dive to earth. The blast damage was all the more vicious because the bomb usually exploded before penetrating the ground.
This new form of attack imposed upon the people of London a burden perhaps even heavier than the air-raids of 1940 and 1941. Suspense and strain were more prolonged.
Dawn brought no relief, and cloud no comfort. The man going home in the evening never knew what he would find; his wife, alone all day or with the children, could not be certain of his safe return. The blind impersonal nature of the
Triumph and Tragedy
58
missile made the individual on the ground feel helpless.
There was little that he could do, no human enemy that he could see shot down.
My daughter Mary was still serving in the Hyde Park Anti-Aircraft Battery. On the morning of Sunday, June 18, when I was at Chequers, Mrs. Churchill told me she would pay it a visit. She found the battery in action. One bomb had passed over it and demolished a house in the Bayswater Road. While my wife and daughter were standing together on the grass they saw a tiny black object dive out of the clouds, which looked as if it would fall very near Downing Street. My car had gone to collect the letters, and the driver was astonished to see all the passers-by in Parliament Square fall flat on their faces. There was a dull explosion near by and everyone went about his business. The bomb had fallen on the Guards Chapel at Wellington Barracks. A special service for which a large number of distinguished officers of the Brigade, active and retired, had gathered was going on. There was a direct hit. The whole building was demolished in a second, and nearly two hundred Guardsmen, including many distinguished officers, and their relations and friends, were left killed or maimed under the ruins. This was a tragic event. I was still in bed working at my boxes when my wife returned. “The battery has been in action,” she said, “and the Guards Chapel is destroyed.”
I gave directions at once that the Commons should retire again to the Church House, whose modern steel structure offered somewhat more protection than the Palace of Westminster. This involved a lot of messages and rearrangement. We had a brief interlude in Secret Session, and a Member indignantly asked, “Why have we come
Triumph and Tragedy
59
back here?” Before I could reply another Member intervened. “If the honourable gentleman will walk a few hundred yards to Birdcage Walk he will see the reason.”
There was a long silence and the matter dropped.
As the days passed, every borough in London was hit. The worst damage lay in a belt extending from Stepney and Poplar southwestward to Wandsworth and Mitcham. Of individual boroughs Croydon suffered most hits, including eight bombs in a single day, followed by
The Flying Bomb, as we came to call it, was named “VI” by Hitler, since he hoped — with some reason — that it was only the first of a series of terror weapons which German research would provide. To Londoners, the new weapon was soon known as the “doodlebug” or “buzz bomb” from the strident sound of its engine, which was a jet of new and ingenious design. The bomb flew at speeds up to four hundred miles an hour, and at heights around three thousand feet, and it carried a ton of explosive. It was steered by a magnetic compass, and its range was governed by a small propeller which was driven round by the passage of the bomb through the air. When the propeller had revolved a number of times which corresponded to the distance of London from the launching site, the controls of the missile were tripped to make it dive to earth. The blast damage was all the more vicious because the bomb usually exploded before penetrating the ground.
This new form of attack imposed upon the people of London a burden perhaps even heavier than the air-raids of 1940 and 1941. Suspense and strain were more prolonged.
Dawn brought no relief, and cloud no comfort. The man going home in the evening never knew what he would find; his wife, alone all day or with the children, could not be certain of his safe return. The blind impersonal nature of the
Triumph and Tragedy
58
missile made the individual on the ground feel helpless.
There was little that he could do, no human enemy that he could see shot down.
My daughter Mary was still serving in the Hyde Park Anti-Aircraft Battery. On the morning of Sunday, June 18, when I was at Chequers, Mrs. Churchill told me she would pay it a visit. She found the battery in action. One bomb had passed over it and demolished a house in the Bayswater Road. While my wife and daughter were standing together on the grass they saw a tiny black object dive out of the clouds, which looked as if it would fall very near Downing Street. My car had gone to collect the letters, and the driver was astonished to see all the passers-by in Parliament Square fall flat on their faces. There was a dull explosion near by and everyone went about his business. The bomb had fallen on the Guards Chapel at Wellington Barracks. A special service for which a large number of distinguished officers of the Brigade, active and retired, had gathered was going on. There was a direct hit. The whole building was demolished in a second, and nearly two hundred Guardsmen, including many distinguished officers, and their relations and friends, were left killed or maimed under the ruins. This was a tragic event. I was still in bed working at my boxes when my wife returned. “The battery has been in action,” she said, “and the Guards Chapel is destroyed.”
I gave directions at once that the Commons should retire again to the Church House, whose modern steel structure offered somewhat more protection than the Palace of Westminster. This involved a lot of messages and rearrangement. We had a brief interlude in Secret Session, and a Member indignantly asked, “Why have we come
Triumph and Tragedy
59
back here?” Before I could reply another Member intervened. “If the honourable gentleman will walk a few hundred yards to Birdcage Walk he will see the reason.”
There was a long silence and the matter dropped.
As the days passed, every borough in London was hit. The worst damage lay in a belt extending from Stepney and Poplar southwestward to Wandsworth and Mitcham. Of individual boroughs Croydon suffered most hits, including eight bombs in a single day, followed by
Similar Books
