Out & About …

… on the North York Moors, or wherever I happen to be.

A wide, eye-level shot capturing a sweeping landscape under a bright blue sky dotted with wispy white clouds. To the left, a rugged, light grey cliff face dominates the foreground, its textured surface showing signs of weathering. Patches of green grass cling to its base. The land slopes steeply away from the cliff, revealing a vast expanse of rolling hills and valleys. The terrain is a mix of green, grassy areas and patches of dry, brown bracken. A narrow, winding path snakes its way down the hillside, with a few small figures of people walking along it, suggesting the scale of the landscape. In the middle distance, a dense patch of dark green trees fills a valley. Beyond this, the hills continue to undulate, showing a variety of textures and colours, including some yellow fields in the far distance. A faint line of the North Sea on the horizon meets the sky, where the blue is slightly paler. A thin, dark fence line runs along the crest of one of the hills on the right side of the frame, adding a sense of human presence in the otherwise natural scene. The overall impression is one of a vast, open, and somewhat wild landscape.

When War Came to Teesside: The Night the Zeppelins Roared

On the night of 2nd May 1916, the New Moon cast an eerie darkness over the coastal towns and villages of the Yorkshire Coast. As the tranquil evening unfolded, an unsettling noise gradually erupted from the sky, until it echoed like the roar of an express train. Moments later, a series of random explosions were to shatter the night, sending a ripple of fear through the community. Three monstrous German Zeppelin airships, each measuring an impressive 178.5 metres in length and capable of soaring at speeds of 95 km/h, barreled overhead, their four powerful 240 hp engines propelling them forward. These leviathans were part of a fleet of seven that had launched from their base in Southern Denmark, intent on wreaking havoc on factories, smelters, and railways across Middlesbrough, Stockton-on-Tees, and Hartlepool in northeastern England.

Despite the harrowing bombardment in December 1914 by the German Navy on Scarborough, Hartlepool, and Whitby, war had unmistakably arrived in Teesside. For those living through this tumultuous time, the reality must have been nothing short of unimaginable. The once peaceful towns and villages found themselves thrust into the chaos of conflict, leaving residents grappling with a stark new world.

As news of the attack spread, the press began to document the incident—though, under the watchful eye of the War Office, the details were likely sanitized. The Yorkshire Post and Leeds Intelligencer reported that three Zeppelins struck an unnamed town on the North-East Coast late that Tuesday night, dropping around 10 to 20 bombs in the surrounding rural areas. Fortunately, the damage was minimal, limited to a few farm buildings and, miraculously, no loss of life1Yorkshire Post and Leeds Intelligencer – 04 May 1916. “BOMBS WHICH WROUGHT NO INJURY.”https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/bl/0000687/19160504/152/0005. However, it’s now known that the true toll that night — by the whole fleet, the other airships having headed to Scotland — was 9 lives lost and 30 to 40 injuries, with damage estimates reaching £12,0302ZEPPELINS, GOTHAS & ‘GIANTS’ — THE STORY OF BRITAIN’S FORGOTTEN BLITZ  1914-1918. 2/3 May 1916. Bombed: Scotland, Yorks. & North-East https://iancastlezeppelin.co.uk/2/3-may-1916.

Among the airships that terrorized the Yorkshire coast was LZ59, also known by its tactical number L20. Having commenced its bombing campaign in January, it had already left a tragic mark on the East Midlands, claiming the lives of ten individuals in Loughborough, including a mother and two of her children. Teesside was set to be its second act of destruction.

Yet LZ59’s return journey would not be so simple. Unlike its fellow airships, which navigated homeward without incident, LZ59 faced dire challenges: one of its engines faltered, and strong southeasterly winds intensified into a moderate gale, pushing the Zeppelin off course. Instead of heading back south, the beleaguered airship was swept toward the North Sea and the shores of neutral Norway.

As dawn broke, LZ59 continued its struggle, passing northeast of Feistein Lighthouse before veering southeast to hug the Norwegian coastline. Running dangerously low on fuel, the Zeppelin was forced to land in a fjord near Stavanger. Remarkably, the crew survived the ordeal, only to be interned by Norwegian authorities, who later destroyed the remnants of the airship.

In an era before GPS and radar, even radio communication, navigation was a precarious affair. Like the Vikings that had traversed these waters over a millennium ago, the crew relied on dead reckoning to guide their flight across the North Sea. Once the coast came into view, they would steer sharply to starboard, using the shoreline as a handrail until they identified landmarks like river estuaries. Compounding their challenges but aiding stealth, the night sky was cloudless, and with a new moon, the darkness was palpable. Despite blackout restrictions meant to conceal targets from enemy eyes, some farming communities were none too diligent, resulting in an unfortunate misdirection of several bombs onto isolated homes and farms.

Today, as I gazed out toward Guisborough and the vast expanse of the North Sea, I reflected on the route taken by those leviathans of the sky, forever etched in the annals of history as a chilling reminder of when war came to Teesside.

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