May 25, 1917 - First Largescale Strategic Bomber Attack as German Gothas Bomb Kent
Pictured - A Gotha G.IV.
Germany inaugurated a new type of war on May 25, 1917. Twenty-three mammoth German Gotha G.IV bombers took off from airfields in Belgium, headed for England. The first largescale strategic bombing of history took place. In hindsight, the German attack does not look impressive - because of cloud coverage, only two German bombers actually reached England, dropping their bombs over Kent rather than the intended target London.
Yet these two machines inflicted more damage than any Zeppelin had every done. Loaded with high-explosive bombs, the Gothas killed almost one hundred people. Sixteen Canadian soldiers died when their training camp at Shorncliffe was hit. At Folkstone, civilians were the victims: sixteen men, thirty women, twenty-five children. Ninety-five dead altogether and a further 192 wounded. Strategic bombing did not reach the heights it did in World War II, but a new threshold of war had been passed. Britain and France would retaliate. “The ancient Jehovah is still abroad,” wrote Albert Einstein to a friend in Holland, “alas he slays the innocent along with the guilty, whom he strikes so fearsomely blind that they can feel no sense of guilt.”
British (left), Soviet (center) and American (right) soldiers shake hands outside the ruins of the Reich Chancellery in Allied-occupied Berlin, almost a year after hostilities ceased. The new Reich Chancellery (German: Reichskanzlei) building was completed in early 1939 and was seriously damaged during the Battle of Berlin and subsequently demolished. Berlin, Germany. 14 April 1946
KV-9 with the gun at maximum elevation. February 1942 Turret turned back
turned to the left Damage armor-piercing projectile after shooting them with the turret of the KV-1 U-22, the attempt to install U-11 to the
T-34 Developed at factory No. 183 project “howitzer” T-34 One of the last “lifetime” of photos of KV-9, spring 1943
Do you guys remember the dream that Chris had about Layne? It just totally breaks my heart 😢
Posted on 10/13/2008 The essence of a dream can follow you all day long. Sometimes two or three days. I have had dreams as a little kid that I remember like they were yesterday, though as time goes on these dream are sometimes hard to tell from actual events as they survive in my memory. I am fascinated with the essence factor of dreams, period. They are as real as the essence felt from the ambience of an actual place, like a house you grew up in. Your favourite bar, or your school. The first Christmas tree you see every year, the smell of it, and especially songs. Some feelings these environments evoke are awful, some magical. All of them completely real. Real enough that numerous cultures throughout history have believed that the dream world is every bit as important and substantial and a vital part of human life as the conscious state. Some mysticisms actually look at the world of dreams as being the “true and only world” and everything else an illusion. For my money, if you put an ice pick through your hand, I think it will prove to be a pretty fucking good illusion. Last night I had a dream that has been following me all day like a sick dog. I was in a hotel near the house I grew up in. I was in a cafe that happened to be the lunch court of my elementary school. Various friends from my past were walking up and talking to me. In the middle of this scene walks Layne Staley. He looked much like he did the first time I met him. Shoulder length hair, clean shaved. Clear eyed and looking about 20 years old. I was so happy. Confused a little, but in a dream like this, I just wanted to accept the idea that there was some mistake and he was alive and well. He seemed happy and said was working on some new music project. I woke up not long after that with the feeling that I had really just talked to him and he was somewhere doing just fine. My next thought was one that has plagued me for years. Sitting in Kelly Curtis’ living room with about 30 people, all sobbing. We had just come from Andy Wood’s extra weird funeral-wake thing at the Paramount Theatre. It had these new age overtones that didn’t fit Andy’s life at all. There was an amazing film of Andy with Mother Love Bone band mates. All of Andy’s friends and family were there, mixed with a bunch of fans who I didn’t like but knew Andy would have loved. The fans went home. His friends went to Kelly’s. We were crammed in a smallish living room with people sitting on every available surface. Couch arms, end tables, the floor. I was leaning on the back of one of the couches that face away from the rest of the room and toward the front door. I remember Andy’s girlfriend looking at everyone and saying “This is just like La Bamba” then suddenly I heard slapping footsteps growing louder and louder as they reached the front door and Layne flew in, completely breaking down and crying so deeply that he looked truly frightened and lost. Very child like. He looked up at everyone at once and I had this sudden urge to run over and grab him and give him a big hug and tell him everything was going to be OK. Kelly has always had a way of making everyone feel like everything will turn out great. That the world isn’t ending. That’s why we were at his place. I wanted to be that person for Layne, maybe just because he needed it so bad. I wasn’t. I didn’t get up in front of the room and offer that and I still regret it. No one else did either. I don’t know why. Years later, at Layne’s funeral, I was angry. I kept hearing the “twice as bright, half as long” speech and the “he was just too special for this world” nonsense that I had heard at so many other funerals for so many other friends that were so young and talented. I’m not sure why I was that angry. Angry at Layne? Angry at all my other friends for leaving me? Angry at the people running around in circles saying “I knew him best” or “I was the only one he really trusted”, angry at all of them for squandering what I thought of as brilliant futures that would make the world feel to me like a place worth living? Or maybe I was just mad at myself because he was dead, and one time I had a chance to pick him up, dust him off and let him know that there was a person who cared about how much pain he was in and I didn’t do it. If I ever run into him in a dream again, I hope I remember to apologise. Night all. Sweet dreams. C
The HMS Roxburgh, the cruiser that escorted the convoy most of the way across the Atlantic, pictured before the war.
May 24 1917, Norfolk–The first major British ocean-going convoy, from Gibraltar to Plymouth, had been a great success, with all ships arriving successfully in Plymouth on May 20. The Admiralty then gave the final approval to a planned transatlantic convoy of British merchant ships back across the Atlantic from Hampton Roads, Virginia. On May 24, nine ships, accompanied by the cruiser HMS Roxburgh left American waters, making a steady speed of nine knots across the Atlantic. Two of the ships experienced some mechanical difficulties and were unable to keep up; one of these was sunk by a submarine later in its voyage. The remaining seven ships were able to continue across the Atlantic without incident, maintaining an orderly formation despite heavy wind, rain, and fog. They were joined by eight destroyers in the eastern Atlantic, and arrived successfully on June 7, having encountered no submarines along the way.
Even if U-boats had found the convoy, it likely could not do much damage. The presence of escorts meant the submarines could not use their deck gun and would have to attack with their torpedoes from underwater while simultaneously avoiding the escorts. Even if they sank one ship, the convoy would likely have moved on before the submarine could fix on another one. As Admiral Sims put it, the convoys would “establish a square mile of the surface of the ocean in which submarines could not operate and then move that square along until port was reached.” The success of this convoy, and the Gibraltar one, meant that convoy use was greatly expanded in the coming months; four more left Hampton Roads in June, and another sixteen had crossed the Atlantic by the end of July.