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1st October 1916 - The Great War, Day by Day - The Wartime Memories Project

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The Wartime Memories Project - The Great War - Day by Day



1st October 1916

On this day:


  • Abbotts VAD Hospital moves   The Abbotts VAD hospital, Cheltenham, moved from The Abbotts, 49 All Saints Road to The Priory, a larger house nearby doubling its capacity to 100 beds.

  • Hostile Trenches Bombarded   236th London Brigade Royal Field Artillery report from Mametz Wood. At 0700 D236 began to bombard hostile trenches --- near Eaucourt L’Abbaye and other Batteries fired a short intense barrage from 1007 until 1015. At 1515 140 Infantry Brigade assaulted and took Eaucourt L’Abbaye in conjunction with the New Zealand Division on our right. They held firm on the left flank with the 20th Battalion holding firm on the right: another Battalion attacked, but the situation still remained obscure.

  • Messines Sector - Flanders   Pioneer Work started in September for the 16th Btn. Royal Irish Rifles and continued throughout October with the weather worsening as winter progressed.

    “The trenches and dugouts to begin with were not such at all in the sense in which the troops had been wont to use the names on the Ancre. The fighting trenches consisted everywhere save on the highest ground, of parapets built of sandbags filled with clay. In places there was a parados similarly constructed, but over long stretches the men in the front line simply stood behind the wall, with no protection against the back-burst of shells. Water in this country appeared everywhere just below the surface and it was useless to dig trenches in the real sense for any other purpose than drainage. Even the communication trenches were sunk not deeper than a foot and piled high on either side with earth which made them satisfactory enough as cover from view, but very vulnerable to shellfire. These communication trenches were longer than those to which the troops had been accustomed, the approaches to the front line being much more exposed than among the folds of the Somme country. As for dugouts, there were none. Little wooden-framed shelves in the parapets, a few “baby elephants” – arched steel shelters, which if covered thickly enough with sandbags, afforded protection against the shells of field guns – served for the troops in line, while further back, for battalion HQ and forts, there were ruined farms, which often had good cellars and in the framework of which concrete structures could be hidden. It was hard for troops used to the Somme chalk to accustom their minds to the spongy nature of this soil.”

    “When it rained, which was not seldom, all the low lying ground was flooded. The valley of the Douve (a small stream) above all, from Wulverghem to the front line, became a muddy swamp, in which water lay in sheets. At such times, and indeed during a great part of the winter, many trenches simply could not be occupied. No adequate idea of the impression conveyed upon the mind of a man coming up north from the clean white trenches of the Somme can be obtained of all this area unless it is conceived as dirty, mournful and disconsolate; haunted by the evil stench of blue clay, and brooded over by an atmosphere of decay.”

    “You went into that front line and you never even took --- I don’t think I took my equipment off; and there were no dugouts in this particular part; and the only place I could stretch myself out was where someone had sandbagged a part of the parapet and they’d left a space between sandbags and you could crawl in on hands and knees and stretch yourself out. I remember that was the only place I could get down to have a rest.”

    October Casualties in 16th Btn. Royal Irish Rifles: Officers 1 wounded, Other Ranks 6 wounded.

  • Zeppelin raid on London   

    Zeppelin L31 at night

    Report on final mission of LZ72(L31)

    On the afternoon of Sunday 1st of October 1916, LZ72 known as L31 was part of an eleven Zeppelin formation that took off from their North German bases on a bombing raid against Britain. It was to be L31’s final mission.

    Commanded by the 33-year-old airship ace Heinrich Mathy, it was one of a new generation of super-Zeppelins designed to counter the increasingly sophisticated British air-defences. A master navigator and aerial tactician, Mathy was a veteran of numerous raids, during which he had acquired a reputation for cool determination and daring. But something of the old confidence had gone. He was the sole survivor among a core group of veteran commanders in this highly specialised service. The tight-knit military elite of which he was the leading representative had recently been shaken by serious losses.

    When history’s first strategic bombing campaign had begun early in 1915, the giant airships had come and gone with impunity. Later, there had been occasional losses to accidents and enemy fire. Then, suddenly, just a week before, on the night of 23-24 September, two of the new super-Zeppelins had been shot down. One of them had turned into a raging fireball which plunged to earth killing all on board. The horror had been visible to the rest of the airship fleet strung out across the skies over southern Britain. The event had shattered the nerves of the German airship crews, and many were showing signs of combat fatigue.

    Among Mathy’s crew, the mess-room mood was sombre. There was much talk about the losses and the crew slept uneasily, haunted by bad dreams and visions of falling airships. Even Mathy was on edge, - alhough he tried to behave as normal, his men noticed the change. His appearance more serious with his features more sharply and deeply engraved on his face. Iin the privacy of his quarters, he confessed his fears in a letter to his young wife, at home nursing a new baby: ‘Peterson is dead, Böcker a prisoner. Hertha, the war is becoming a serious matter… During these days, when you lay our little daughter down to sleep, a good angel will see you and will read what is in your heart, and he will hasten to guard my ship against the dangers which throng the air everywhere about her.’ But a week later, he was dead.

    Mathy’s airship was a giant cigar-shaped cylinder of gas bubbles filled with highly flammable hydrogen. It flew only because it was lighter than air. A huge lightweight framework of duralumin girders and steel wires supported a row of 19 gas-bags made of animal membrane, cotton fabric, and glue, which, when inflated, contained two million cubic feet of gas and filled almost the entire internal space. Stretched over the exterior of the framework was an envelope of light cotton fabric, coated in dope, laced together, and pulled taut. The keel of the duralumin framework formed a gangway running the length of the ship, and here were stowed water-ballast sacks, petrol tanks, and bomb racks. Slung beneath the keel were the forward control gondola and three engine gondolas, a large one towards the rear, two smaller ones amidships.

    [Note: duralumin is an alloy of aluminum (over 90%) with copper (about 4%), magnesium (0.5%–1%), and manganese (less than l%). Before a final heat treatment the alloy is ductile and malleable; after heat treatment a reaction between the aluminum and magnesium produces increased hardness and tensile strength. Because of its lightness and other desirable physical properties, duralumin is widely used in the aircraft industry. ]

    The airship’s six engines, which powered an array of six propellers, one at the back of each gondola, and two suspended directly beneath the hull, afforded a maximum speed of 63mph. Direction was controlled by cables which ran from the forward gondola to movable rudders and elevators attached to the ends of the four tail-fins. A triumph of German engineering, at almost 200m long and 24m across, L31 was bigger than a battleship.

    The crew of an airship were all volunteers. Around 20 in total, half were machinists serving the engines, which required constant maintenance and occasional in-flight repairs. Though warmed by the engines during the long hours of flight, the machinists were assailed by a head-splitting roar and an asphyxiating mix of oil and exhaust fumes.

    In the control car, on the other hand, the commander, the executive officer, the navigator, two petty officers operating rudders and elevators, and two more working in the soundproof wireless compartment, all endured extremes of cold. Even in summer, temperatures could sink below -25°C. At high altitudes, airship crew wore thick woollen underwear, blue naval uniforms, leather overalls, fur overcoats, scarves, goggles, leather helmets, thick gloves of leather and wool, and large felt overshoes covering their boots. They were sustained by generous rations of bread, sausage, stew, chocolate, and thermos flasks of strong coffee. Thus did the pioneers of military aviation enter the strange new combat zone of the upper skies.

    The technology was unreliable and the risks were high. The wartime casualty rate among German airship crew was 40% and two and a half miles up, there were special terrors not faced by men on the ground. There was nowhere to run, no way of escape; one lived or died as the machine flew or crashed. Men perished in the airships because engines failed, or storms blew up, or commanders simply lost their way and ran out of fuel.

    Above all, airship crew feared being set on fire, either in the air or trapped in a tangle of flaming wreckage on the ground. In the mess-rooms, they debated whether or not, if their airship was shot down, to jump at the last minute. The impact of those who did sometimes left macabre imprints in the ground.

    British Air Defences

    The defences around London – searchlights, anti-aircraft guns, and home-defence fighter squadrons – had thickened alarmingly. Individually, neither guns nor planes were a serious threat. It was estimated after the war that only one in 8,000 of the anti-aircraft shells fired scored a hit, and that around 90% of home-defence pilots never so much as saw their enemy. But en masse, a network of lights, guns and planes, if sufficiently dense, could create a zone of lethal danger over the British capital.

    By the early autumn of 1916, such a system was in place. Rings of lights and guns were activated without hesitation and at long range. Once enemy raiders were spotted, they were liable, on a clear night, to be held in a pyramid of light-rays and targeted by numerous 3-inch quick-firing anti-aircraft guns, some in fixed positions, others moved around on lorries. Firing 15 rounds a minute to a maximum vertical range of 18,000 feet, the guns were able to fill the sky with enough bursting shrapnel to keep the raiders hovering on the fringes of the capital – the killing zone of the British fighters.

    The staple of the home-defence squadrons was the BE2c biplane. Its main advantage was exceptional stability, which made it especially suitable for the hazardous landings of night-flying missions. But it was painfully slow: maximum speed was under 75mph, and it took more than half an hour to climb to its ceiling of 10,000 feet. There was therefore only one effective way to operate. At each station, the on-duty pilot would wait by his machine for an air-raid warning and the order to scramble. He would then ascend onto a regular patrol line for his three-hour stint in the air. If, however, he sighted an enemy raider, his standing orders were to pursue and attack.

    The British had already developed a distinctive air-war doctrine: air supremacy – and thereby security from aerial observation and bombardment – was to be achieved by relentless efforts to locate and destroy enemy aircraft. The British fighters were hunter-killers. The handful of young officer-pilots who flew them – riding alone in open cockpits into the freezing night air – formed the deadly cutting-edge of a home-defence system that now employed 17,000 men.

    As the Zeppelins hummed towards Britain, remote listening stations picked up their radio messages, and patrol ships and coastal observation-posts watched for them in the sky. Early warnings were phoned to Room 40 at the Admiralty in London, and from there the message went out ‘Take air raid action’. Lights snapped on, guns were made ready, and aircraft at a dozen airfields coughed into life and were sent bumping across the grass for take-off.

    Despite the danger, Heinrich Mathy in L31 remained determined to penetrate the defences and bomb the enemy capital. After making landfall near Lowestoft at 2100, he headed south-west for London. But the threat of converging searchlights caused him to sheer away northwards again at around 2245.

    Only now were the home-defence pilots getting onto their patrol lines. Mathy circled for a time, then throttled his engines and attempted to cross the northern gun defences by drifting silently with the wind, hoping to remain undetected. But when he reopened his engines at 0030, lights and guns burst into life, and the commotion attracted the attention of the fighters, now prowling for prey along the furthest edges of the capital. Second Lieutenant V Tempest saw a small cigar-shaped object illuminated by a pyramid of seachlights and bracketed by exploding shrapnel: Mathy’s Zeppelin. As the BE2c fighter raced towards it, L31 turned sharply away, jettisoned its bombs, and began climbing steeply. Mathy was not fast enough. Though forced to hand-operate a broken fuel-pump, Tempest closed the gap and dived on the rising airship. Two miles up in the blackness of the night, a new kind of combat was fought, as a tiny single-manned aeroplane of wood, fabric and glue, its only armament a light machine-gun, sped towards a giant of the air 25 times bigger. Tempest fired first as he dived, then again as he flew beneath the monster. No effect. He next banked his plane and came in once more beneath the tail. Flying under the airship’s hull, he opened fire for the third time, raking the length of it with bullets. At first he despaired when again nothing seemed to happen, and then ‘I saw her begin to go red inside like an enormous Chinese lantern.’

    That autumn, the British pilots deployed a new weapon. No longer dependent on dropping bombs or explosive darts over the side, nor on the standard machine-gun ammunition that appeared to have no effect whatever on the giant gas-bags, the home-defence squadrons now filled their ammunition belts with a mixture of tracer and newly-designed explosive and incendiary bullets. The idea was to blow a hole in the fabric of an airship and then ignite the escaping hydrogen as it mixed with air. The new weapon had claimed three airships in a month. Now it claimed a fourth.

    Mathy’s Zeppelin shot 200 feet upwards, hung in the air for a moment, and then began to fall. Gas cells exploded into incandescent fireballs. Sheets of envelope fabric were ripped off and blasted into the night sky. Flames streaked up the sides and the airship became an immense torch, glowing orange, yellow and white, hissing and roaring as it plunged earthwards.

    Tempest only narrowly escaped the inferno. He was forced to nosedive, put his machine into a spin, and corkscrew his way clear. It left him feeling sick and disoriented. When he eventually picked out the night flares of an airfield runway, he misjudged his height in the fog and crashed, losing his undercarriage and clunking his head on the butt of his Lewis gun. He was lucky to suffer nothing worse than a cut and a headache; landing crashes accounted for most of the 28 fighter pilots killed in the air war over Britain.

    The remains of L31 landed in a field at Potters Bar, about 10 miles north of London. All the crew were killed, most of them burnt in the wreckage, though one had jumped and was found half-embedded in the soil, apparently still breathing when first seen: the German airship-ace himself.

    The disaster had been witnessed across London the night before. Spontaneous cheering and applause had filled the streets. Now huge crowds gathered at the wreck site to bear witness to the British victory. Three of the new super-Zeppelins, each commanded by a veteran captain, had been shot down. It was the turning-point in the air war: the British had defeated the world’s first strategic bombing campaign.

  • 1st Oct 1916 On the Move

  • Zeppelin raid on London   The next raid came on the 1st of October 1916. Eleven Zeppelins were launched at targets in the Midlands and at London. As usual weather played a major role and only L 31 under the experienced Heinrich Mathy, on his 15th raid, reached London. Approaching from Suffolk, L 31 was picked up by the searchlights at Kelvedon Hatch around 2145, turning away, the airship detoured over Harlow, Stevenage and Hatfield. As the airship neared Cheshunt at about 2320 the airship was quickly picked up by six searchlights. Three aircraft of No. 39 Squadron were in the air and closed in on L 31. A BE2c piloted by 2nd lieutenant Wulstan Tempest engaged the Zeppelin at around 2350. Three bursts were sufficient to set fire to L 31, and it crashed near Potters Bar with all 19 crew dying, Mathy jumping from the burning airship. His body was found near the wreckage, embedded some four inches in the ground. Tempest had had to dive out of the way of the stricken airship and, possibly suffering from anoxia, crashed without injury on landing.

    "The Zeppelin was now nearly 15,000 feet high and mounting rapidly….[I] dived straight at her, firing a burst straight into her as I came. I let her have another burst as I passed under her and then banking my machine over, sat under her tail, and flying along underneath her, pumped lead into her …As I was firing, I noticed her begin to go red inside like an enormous Chinese lantern and then a flame shot out of the front part of her and I realized she was on fire. She then shot up about 200 feet, paused, and came roaring down straight on to me before I had time to get out of the way. I nose-dived for all I was worth… and just managed to corkscrew out of the way as she shot past me, roaring like a furnace." Second Lieutenant W. Tempest.

    "The Zeppelin drifted perpendicularly in the darkened sky. A gigantic pyramid of flames, red and orange, like a ruined star falling slowly to earth. Its glare lit up the streets and gave a ruddy tint even to the waters of the Thames. The spectacle lasted two or three minutes. It was so horribly fascinating that I felt spellbound , almost suffocated with emotion, ready hysterically to laugh or dry. When at last the doomed airship vanished from sight there arose a shout the like of which I never heard in London before — a hoarse shout of mingled execration, triumph and joy. It was London’s Te Deum for another crowning deliverance. Four Zeppelins destroyed in a month!" Journalist, Michael MacDonagh, who watched the spectacle from Blackfriars Bridge. The next morning, MacDonagh’s editor sent him to Potters Bar, where in heavy rain, he located the crash site: "One body was found in the field some distance from the wreckage. He must have jumped from the doomed airship from a considerable height. So great was the force with which he struck the ground that I saw the imprint of his body clearly defined in the stubbly grass. There was around hole for the head, then deep impressions of the trunk, with outstretched arms, and finally the widely separated legs. Life was in him when he was picked up, but the spark soon went out. He was, in fact, the Commander, who had been in one of the gondolas hanging from the airship."

  • 1st October 1916 Winter quarters

  • 1st Oct 1916 Move to new billets

  • 1st Oct 1916 Church service and C Sqn. relocation

  • 1st Oct 1916 Pumping Resumes

  • 1st Oct 1916 Clocks go Back

  • October 1916 On the Move

  • In the Trenches   18th Durhams are in the trenches of the Givenchy Sector. Weather is fine. Quiet on the whole. 11 East Lancs relieved 13 York & Lancs on their left during the night. Mutual rifle grenade & trench mortar activity in late afternoon. 60 reinforcements reported to 18th DLI, Capt. J. B. Hughes-Game was wounded.

  • 1st Oct 1916 Attack Made

  • 1st Oct 1916 Local Nuisance

  • 1st Oct 1916 Arguments and Ownership

  • 1st Oct 1916 Reliefs

  • 1st Oct 1916 Reliefs

  • 1st Oct 1916 Training

  • 1st of October 1916 Relieving the Canadians

  • 1st of October 1916 Working Parties





Can you add to this factual information? Do you know the whereabouts of a unit on a particular day? Do you have a copy of an official war diary entry? Details of an an incident? The loss of a ship? A letter, postcard, photo or any other interesting snipts?

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There are:21 articles tagged with this date available in our Library

  These include information on officers service records, letters, diaries, personal accounts and information about actions during the Great War.




Remembering those who died this day.

  • Pte. Arthur George Baker. Notts & Derby Sherwood Foresters 11th Battalion
  • Rflmn. Edward John Barrett. London Regiment 1/17th Btn.
  • Pte. Leonard Bowes. East Yorkshire Regiment 4th Btn. Read their Story.
  • Sgt. Donald Forrester Brown. VC 2nd Bn. Otago Regiment Read their Story.
  • Pte. John Devine. Northumberland Fusiliers 24th (Tyneside Irish) Battalion
  • Rflmn. Thomas G Morris. London Regiment 17th Btn. Read their Story.
  • Pte. Francis Murray. Gordon Highlanders att. Royal Engineers 9th Btn. Read their Story.
  • L/Sgt. Bernard Seaton. Kings Own Yorkshire Light Infantry
  • Pte. Joseph Howard Slater. Royal Berkshire Regiment 6th Btn. Read their Story.
  • Pte. Frank Sweeney. Northumberland Fusiliers 26th (Tyneside Irish) Battalion Read their Story.
  • Pte. John Alfred Wardle. Durham Light Infantry 1/6th Btn. Read their Story.
  • Rflmn. Henry Thomas Welch. Rifle Bgde 16th Btn (Prince Consort's Own) Read their Story.
  • Thomas Young. Durham Light Infantry

    Add a name to this list.


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