The Kingdom of Kent throws off Mercian overlordship AD775

In 764 King Eanmund of Kent died and was replaced by two joint kings: Heabert and Egbert II.

Offa himself travelled down to Canterbury in 764 to attend the coronations. The method by which the people of Kent chose a new king is not entirely clear, but it seems to have been the nobles who had the right to appoint a new ruler, though they had to choose an adult man from among the ranks of the ruling dynasty, the Eskings. Kent had seen joint kings before, there being a long standing division between east Kent and west Kent, with the River Medway marking the boundary. Usually one of the joint kings was the acknowledged senior with the junior ruler concentrating on his own lands and steering clear of international or church matters.

A coin of Offa showing him in armour, but bareheaded. The inscription describes him as "Rex Mercior" or King of Mercia.

There is some evidence that it was Offa who had chosen the new joint kings. It may be that he came to Kent not to attend the celebrations but to ensure that his placemen got chosen.

While he was there, Offa chose to demonstrate his overlordship of Kent in a very solid fashion. King Heabert granted some land to the Bishop of Rochester. It was usual when this happened for the title deeds, or charter, to be signed by the ruling King and witnessed by whichever nobles and clerics were around at the time and had learned to read and write well enough to sign their names and, hopefully, have read the charter. This particular charter, however, was signed not by Heabert, but by Offa. Heabert signed as a mere witness among others though he did describe himself as King of Kent when he did so. One name noticeably absent was that of the new King Egbert II.

When Egbert did choose to act he did so on his own account. Some months after Offa had gone back to Mercia, Egbert chose to have a charter confirmed by King Heabert, implying that it was Heabert who was the senior ruler. Offa's name is nowhere to be seen. One name that does appear as a witness is that of Jaenbert, Abbot of St Augustine's Abbey in Canterbury. The following year Bregowine, Archbishop of Canterbury, died and Jaenbert was elected to succeed him. A few months later Heabert died and Egbert II became sole King of Kent.

All appeared calm, with Offa clearly having the upper hand over Kent. But ten years later he overstepped the mark. In 774 Offa called a meeting of Mercian churchmen and Archbishop Jaenbert went along to officiate as was his right. Travelling with Jaenbert was a nobleman named Baban, who may have been acting as observer for Egbert II or who may have been there on his own business.

At the meeting Offa decided to give some land he owned to the Archbishopric of Canterbury. Jaenbert was, naturally, pleased but Baban was not. Although the land belonged to Offa the taxes on it were owed to Egbert II and so Offa should have asked Egbert for permission to transfer the land. He did not, he simply signed the charter and when Baban objected told him that Egbert would have to accept the situation.

When the news reached Egbert he was predictably furious. Offa had acted as if he, not Egbert, were King of Kent. Having an overlord living miles away in Mercia was one thing. Having an overlord who issued orders to you, expected to have them obeyed and then insulted your dignity was something quite different.

It was not only Egbert who was enraged, the Kentish nobles were incensed as well. Egbert was from their own royal family, was related to many of them and had been chosen by them. Offa was a foreigner with no links to Kent at all. While they could expect to have some influence over a local king, they could have none over Offa. Jaenbert was also unimpressed. It suited the Archbishops of Canterbury to be ruled by a local king who could be influenced by them rather than to have a powerful but remote monarch.

In 775 Egbert threw off Offa's overlordship. He began ruling in his own right, making no reference to Offa and not seeking to have new laws or taxes approved by his supposed overlord. In his turn Offa could not afford to let this rebellion, as he saw it, go unpunished. He gathered an army and in 776 sent it south to invade Kent.

The Exploits of Flight Sergeat Sam Allen of No.50 Squadron, RAF

Also in November 1942 No.50 Squadron was joined by Wireless Operator Flight Sergeant Sam Allen. Allen’s services were much in demand for his skills were undeniable. On a mission in a previous squadron his aircraft’s electrics had failed and the bomber had become lost. Not wishing to risk running out of fuel over the North Sea by heading in the wrong direction, the captain of the aircraft had decided to get his crew to bale out, even though they would most likely be captured. Allen had asked for one last chance to find out where they were. Abandoning all hope of recognising ground features, he had managed to get a number of star fixes and by means of rapid calculations had found they were over Holland, not far from Rotterdam. The pilot had then set off over the North Sea and returned safely to base. But they had only just made it. There was less than 10 gallons of fuel in the tanks.

Amazingly, Allen was to repeat the feat almost exactly with No.50 Squadron. On 17 December 1942 his aircraft, piloted by Sergeant Geoffrey Harrison, joined a small raid of 18 aircraft on Soltau, a mining town in northern Saxony. The raid went well, but on the return journey Allen’s Lancaster was hit by flak. One engine was knocked out, the elevators torn off, the hydraulics destroyed and much other damage done. As the aircraft gradually lost height over the North Sea, the pilot asked Allen to plot the quickest route to land. No bomber crew ever wanted to bale out over the sea as their chances of being rescued were slim. Once again getting out his star navigation equipment, Allen calmly took a series of fixes and then worked out a route that would get the crippled Lancaster to an emergency landing ground in the shortest time possible. Again, he got his crew home safely. Meanwhile, the bomber began to yaw to the left and it was only with the combined strength of pilot and flight engineer hanging on to the control stick that the aircraft was kept flying straight and level long enough to get back to Britain.

Captain Henry Woolett RFC takes on 13 German aircraft

Throughout these months, No.43 Squadron was home to one of the more colourful characters ever to fly with the RFC. Captain Henry Woollett was aged 23 when he joined the squadron in March 1918. He had already acquired an impressive reputation as a fighting pilot, having shot down the required five enemy aircraft to gain the informal designation of “ace”. He was a distinctive figure in his leopard skin flying helmet and gauntlets, and his aircraft was equally noticeable having a dragon painted down the side of its fuselage. He began his career in No.43 Squadron with a bang, shooting down 10 aircraft before the end of March.

On 12 April he took to the skies in his distinctive Camel and before the sun set that day he had shot down six German aircraft. A contemporary pilot wrote “Captain H. W. Woollett of No. 43 Squadron...whilst leading a patrol, he saw a German machine, out-manoeuvred it, fired about thirty rounds and saw it spin down and crash. During this fight he had been attacked by several other machines. Without delay he climbed rapidly above his attackers and dived on to a two-seater, firing as he went, causing this machine also to crash. Once again he out-climbed his opponents, looped away from two attacking Fokkers, made a vertical bank, and again dived on the tail of an Albatross. After he had fired about 40 rounds, this machine burst into flames and fell to pieces. He then went home. At 5 p.m. the same evening he attacked thirteen enemy aircraft.... He first fired 30 rounds into one of the enemy aeroplanes, which turned over on its back and fell to pieces. He then climbed again, manoeuvred rapidly among the remaining twelve machines, avoiding the fire of his opponents until he could fire a burst into an Albatros, which spun down and crashed. He then made for home. On crossing the lines he saw another enemy machine above him. Once more the climb of his 'bus enabled him to get over his enemy, and he crashed his sixth machine for the day.”

Woollett went on to shoot down four more aircraft and three observation balloons with No.43 Squadron before he crashed his Camel and was sent home to Britain. There he took up a position with a training squadron, where he ended the war. His total score was 36, made up of 25 aircraft and 11 balloons. He had been awarded the DSO, the Military Cross and Bar and the French Legion D’Honneur.

HMS Courageous 1939 - the Royal Navy's oldest aircraft carrier

HMS Courageous was the oldest aircraft carrier in the Royal Navy when the war began. She had been built in 1916 as a fast cruiser, armed with four 15 inch guns and eighteen 4 inch guns as well as anti-aircraft weapons. She was designed to be fast enough to catch the smaller surface raiders being used by the Germans, but with guns big enough to outmatch them conclusively. To make high speeds possible she and her fellow fast cruisers were given only light armour, which made them unsuitable for facing up to larger German ships. She fought in the Second Battle of Heligoland Bight in 1917.

HMS Courageous in dock in 1939.

After the end of World War I, Courageous was at first destined to be scrapped as the combination of big guns and light armour was deemed to have been something of a failure. She was saved when in 1924 it was decided to convert her large, fast hull to become an aircraft carrier. The guns and turrets were taken out to be reused in the battelship HMS Vanguard. The hull was equipped with hangars and maintenance facilities for 48 aircraft. The funnel and other superstructure were pushed to one side to form an "island" while the hull was covered by a vast, flat flight deck.

The Courageous was refitted in the 1930s. She entered World War II with two squadrons of Fairey Swordfish torpedo and reconnaissance aircraft. Her defensive armament consisted of several anti-aircraft guns and she had no offensive armament at all except her aircraft. She had, in 1938, been taken out of frontline service and used as a training ship but the outbreak of war brought her back into action.

 A party held on board HMS Courageous in Gibraltar in 1937 when she met the German battleship Deutschland. The German officers were entertained on board, including the man playing the piano.

German Anti-Aircraft Guns 1939

German anti aircraft guns

An 8.8cm flak gun in a museum (Photo: Rickard Angman)

German anti aircraft guns in the first half of the war were primarily the 8.8cm Flak 18 gun - better known to the British in its anti-tank version the 88mm KwK. This gun could fire 15 rounds per minute up to a height of 25,000 feet when aimed or 39,000 feet if unaimed. The shell exploded at a predetermined height, throwing shrapnel around to damage aircraft close to the blast point. The 8.8cm gun was most effective against high-flying aircraft.

For dealing with low-flying bombers the Germans had the 2cm Flak 30 gun. This could fire 120 rounds per minute to a height of 6,000 feet. It could fire two types of ammunition. The first was an explosive round that would detonate if it hit anything, or after a set time of flight. The second was an incendiary shell that burned continuously as it flew through the air and could set fire to anything it struck. Because the path of these incendiaries could be seen in flight they were dubbed "tracer" by the British. Usually the 2cm Flak fired a mix of ammunition. The gunners used the tracer to see where their shots were going while the exploding shells caused most damage to targets. In 1939 an improved 2cm Flak gun the Flakvierling was introduced with a rate of fire of 220 rounds per minute. By 1942 this was the standard German light anti-aircraft gun in all but the most secondary uses.

The improved Flakvierling.

The Athenia was the first British ship to be sunk during the Second World War.

The Athenia was the first British ship to be sunk during the Second World War. The fact that she was an unarmed passenger ship that had left port before war broke out caused an international outcry. The Germans denied sinking her, refusing to admit the truth until after the war when the official files of the Kriegsmarine (German Navy) were seized by the Allies.

On 1 September, before Britain and Germany went to war, the British passenger liner SS Athenia left Glasgow, calling at Liverpool and Belfast before heading across the Atlantic toward Montreal. On board were 1,103 passengers and 315 crew. On 3 September as the ship powered west past Rockall a radio message arrived giving the news that war had broken out. That message was followed by official orders from the British Admiralty to all British ships at sea.

Those orders said that all ships should proceed to their destinations at full speed, but that the ships should put out their lights so as not to be visible at night and should zig-zag in order to spoil the aim of any German warships, submarines or aircraft that might attack. Captain Cook of the Athenia knew the drill, having served in the First World War. He warned his passengers of the precautions to be taken, and in addition made sure that the lifeboats were ready for use, stocked with food and water and had emergency flares on board.

The Athenia as shown in her official portrait commissioned by the shipping line that owned her.

Meanwhile, the Athenia had at 4.30pm been sighted by Oberleutnant Fritz-Julius Lemp in command of U-30. He followed the ship as darkness fell. He later claimed that he thought the ship was a troopship, or perhaps an armed merchant ship. The fact that when night came Athenia did not show any lights convinced Lemp that she was a naval ship. At 7.40pm he fired two torpedoes, one of which hit the Athenia and exploded in the engine room.

The ship at once began to go down by the stern. Cook sent out a distress signal stating that his ship had been torpedoed. Three British destroyers arrived within a couple of hours. While one set about rescuing the survivors, the other two began a U-boat sweep to find the attacker. Lemp, however, had long since left the area.

Once all survivors were on board the rescue ships it was found that 98 passengers and 19 crew had died. The fact that 28 of the dead were American citizens caused the Germans to fear that the sinking might cause the USA to declare war. It was for this reason that the Germans denied the sinking and claimed that the ship must have hit a mine. Lemp changed the log of his U-boat to cover up the sinking.

The Sylt Raid of 19 March 1940 - a contemporary newspaper report

April 5th 1940    

From Scapa to Sylt: The R.A.F. Hits Back

A few days before Easter there was a raid by the Nazis on Scapa, followed swiftly by a return visit to Sylt by bombers of the R.A.F. Here is the story of the two raids.

On the evening of Saturday, March 16, fourteen Nazi bombers, including the new Junkers J.U. 88, flew 550 miles over the North Sea to the British naval base at Scapa Flow – where twenty-one years ago the German Grand Fleet came to such an ignominious end – and attempted to bomb units of the Royal Navy which happened to be there.

A map showing Scapa Flow in the Orkneys, just off northern Scotland.

The Nazi bombers arrived just at sunset, and in the words of a German pilot who took part in the raid, “the jaws of Hell opened” the moment they were sighted. Searchlights pierced the gathering gloom and battery after battery of anti-aircraft guns opened fire, belching tons of high-explosive shells into the air. For an hour the Nazi pilots held to their objective; altogether they dropped nearly a hundred bombs, but the only damage they were able to do was to damage slightly one warship, killing seven of the personnel. As soon as British fighter planes arrived on the scene, the raiders turned tail. In their hurry to get away from the withering fire of their pursuers the Germans jettisoned their remaining bombs. Nine-teen of these bombs fell on targets which had no military significance whatsoever, damaging cottages and roads and killing a 27-year-old County Council employee, James Isbister - the first civilian to be killed in a raid  on Britain in the present war.

The Nazis gloated over the raid. They claimed to have hit the “Hood,” the “Repulse” and the “Renown”; they talked of “intensified air attacks” on England, of "German military superiority.” Because they did not wait to obtain the true facts, or because they did not wish to give them, the German propaganda department was able to broadcast a fantastic account of the raid hours before the British version was released. For some inexplicable reason even the most staid and trustworthy of the American newspapers believed the German story – for a few hours, until the British Admiralty announcement was forthcoming.

For three days Germany was allowed to boast of her successes, of her air might and what she would do to Britain. Then the R.A.F. stole the limelight.

Above and below: The cottages hit during the German raid on Scapa Flow were at Bridge of Waith. One man was killed, with five men and two women needing hospital treatment for wounds.

Wave after Wave on Sylt        

At 8p.m., on March 19, the first wave of R.A.F. bombers dived out of the clouds over the island of Sylt, the German base off the coast of Denmark from which came the seaplane minelayers. For seven hours the attack lasted, our bombers attacking singly in relays, so that by the time some of the ‘planes had just reached their objective’ others had already arrived back home.

The first British bombers arrived over Sylt in brilliant moonlight, swooped down on their objective at a terrifying speed, and dropped their bombs with machine-like accuracy. Then, as the first bombers flew away, their work done, and the second wave approached, guided by the fires that had been started, warning sirens wailed over the island and a wall of anti-aircraft fire was pumped into the air. But nothing would deter these grim-faced men of the R.A.F. The only German fighter ‘plane that attempted to battle with the raiders was driven away by one of the bombers’ rear gunners.

A map of Sylt showing the location of the aerodrome that was bombed.

The attack had been planned by Air Chief Marshal Sir Edgar Ludlow-Hewitt, the Commander-in-Chief of the R.A.F. Bomber Command – the man who had planned the raid on Kiel and Wilhelmshaven at the beginning of the war- and the R.A.F. intended to carry out his plan to the letter.

Among the crews of the ‘planes engaged were 14 Canadians, 7 New Zealanders, 7 Australians, a South African, and several Irishmen – a truly Imperial partnership.

Determined that this time there should be no delay in giving the news to the world, the Air Ministry arranged with the bomber squadrons that the progress of the raid should be radioed home in code as it was happening. So as the bombs were dropping, blowing to pieces aeroplane hangars, seaplane slipways, roads, and railway sheds, and as terrific explosions following a hit on an ammunition dump rocked the island, a matter-of-fact account of the havoc being wrought was flashed back to England, and Mr Chamberlain was able to say that the attack was at its height even as he spoke in the House of Commons.

An RAF reconnaissance photo taken in 1938 with annotations added.

Watchers from the nearby Danish island of Roemo described the scene as “like a firework display.” A Danish innkeeper who watched the attack for hours said that shortly after 8.40 all the anti-aircraft guns on the island seemed to go into action at once. They started firing frenziedly and were using tracer projectiles of all colours. He watched until 11 o’clock, by which time he had counted eighty-five bombs dropped.

But the raid went on for hours after the Danish innkeeper had grown tired of watching, and gone home to bed. Not until 6.30 on the morning of March 20 did the last ‘plane in the raid land in England, and only one of our machines failed to return safely.

One observer counted 200 bombs dropped; and of these very few failed to reach their objective. Railway lines and a barrack block were hit; the seaplane base of Hornum – the principle objective – at the southernmost extremity of Sylt, was plastered with tons of bombs; the crew of one bomber saw five of their bombs fall near a jetty; fires were started all over the island, and another bomber reported a direct hit on a sea-plane slipway.

Of course the Nazis maintained that the attack on Sylt had been an utter failure. They asserted at first that only one house had been hit, and a little later they substituted “military hospital” for “house.”

All the German newspapers published a balance sheet of the Scapa and Sylt raids, according to which the damage done by the Nazi bombers to Scapa Flow – one British battleship “as good as destroyed,” two battleships and one cruiser seriously damaged, two more big ships seriously damaged, damage to three aerodromes and anti-aircraft batteries – amounted to £34,230,550! On the debit side of the account the raid on Sylt represented a German loss of £97 only, made up of one damaged house roof £60, one rifle range to be repaired £9, and window panes broken to the extent of £28!

Here we see some of the British airmen who took part in the raid on Sylt.