If you’ve watched the two-part video on the bombing of Dresden by LordHardThrasher (Part 1, Part 2), much of this will already be familiar to you, as Ed West discusses the history of the city up to the point the RAF bombs began to fall on Shrove Tuesday in 1945:
… Just over six years later the city of Dresden would be reduced to ashes by hundreds of bombers from the RAF and US Air Force, a horror that began on the evening of Shrove Tuesday, February 13, 1945, lasting until Thursday morning. Griebel would survive, but all his art went up in the blaze.
Dresden is perhaps, after Hiroshima, the name most synonymous with slaughter from the air, and in Britain at least the most controversial. Last year, while visiting this incredibly beautiful city — much of it now rebuilt — I reread Frederick Taylor’s account of the bombing, published back in 2005 on the 60th anniversary of the event.
Dresden’s destruction was extensive. Almost no buildings in the centre or its inner suburbs survived the bombs, and the death toll was immense, although difficult to assess in a city packed with refugees from the east. Anything between 20,000 and 80,000 fatalities is possible, although the consensus seems to be around 25,000.
That night was to be the worst of many wartime firestorms, a meteorological event in which the heat of the blaze becomes so intense, up to a thousand degrees centigrade, that the oxygen is sucked out of the surrounding air. More died in Dresden from asphyxiation than fire, and even those who thought they had found shelter in fountains were boiled alive. Many more drowned in the city’s reservoir, where they had gone to seek protection, their energy sapped by the soaring temperatures, unable to climb out. The bombers, thousands of feet above, could feel the warmth of the thousand fires below.
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As everyone in the 1930s was well aware, the new war would bring aerial destruction on a hideously greater scale, and when it came again, it was the Luftwaffe who first put these ideas into practise, first in Poland and then Rotterdam.
After failing to destroy the Royal Air Force over the summer of 1940, the Nazis switched to aerial bombing of British cities. Between September 7, 1940 and New Year’s Day 1941, London was attacked on 57 consecutive nights, killing 14,000 inhabitants, a rate of 250 fatalities for each day of bombing. The German air force went on to kill an estimated 43,000 British civilians over the course of the war, with V-1 attacks continuing until the last weeks of the war.
On November 14, 1940, over 500 German bombers took off for a mission that would gift their language a new verb: Coventrated. Five hundred tons of high explosives, 30,000 incendiary bombs, fifty landmines and twenty petroleum mines were dropped on the target, and the medieval city went up in flames.
Like the blitz on other British cities, morale was not crushed in Coventry, but something dawned on the British high command. The destruction of Coventry’s infrastructure, utilities and transport had proved far more damaging than the destruction of any purely “military” target. Furthermore, bombers were notoriously inaccurate, and one survey showed that only 2 per cent of bombs fell within even one thousand feet of their intended point. Aerial bombardment of cities would prove far more effective than any hopeless targeting of particular coordinates.
They also learned that a large enough bombing raid would result in a firestorm, in which air currents are drawn in from the surrounding area, causing the fire to burn far more intensely. Indeed, a major attack on the City of London on December 29, 1940 might have become another firestorm but for the bad weather.
The British had been initially reluctant to take the war to Germany. While Poland was left to endure hell, leaflets were dropped over Berlin in October 1939 claiming that Nazi leaders were secretly profiting from the war, leading Noel Coward to suggest that it looked like we were trying to bore the Germans to death. There is even the apocryphal story about British official Sir Kingsley Wood refusing to bomb industrial targets in the Black Forest because it was private property. Indeed, our attempts to bomb Germany in 1940 were so feeble that Goebbels had to fake British “atrocities” to rouse the German public
With the entry of the United States and Soviet Union into the war in 1941, and with the German defeat at Stalingrad, the shoe was now on the other foot. The British invested more resources in Bomber Command and its head, Air Marshall Arthur Harris. “Bomber” Harris would become representative of the entire policy of destroying Germany’s cities, and a figure of controversy; the unveiling of his statue in 1992 attracted protests and has been repeatedly vandalised, but like many architects of wartime destruction, he was motivated by a desire to prevent a repeat of what he saw in 1914-18. The son of a colonial official who might have spent the rest of his life as a farm manager in Rhodesia were it not for war, he had joined the Royal Flying Corp in the first conflict and from his plane saw the horror of trench warfare and became determined that this sort of stalemate should never be repeated.
Having stuck to targeted industrial centres, in February, 1942 Allied command issued the Area Bombing Directive authorising the wide scale destruction of enemy cities. On 28 March the Hanseatic town of Lübeck was destroyed in a firestorm, and its most famous son, the anti-Nazi novelist Thomas Mann, appeared on BBC radio saying that while he regretted the destruction of his native city, “I think of Coventry, and have no objection to the lesson that everything must be paid for. Did Germany believe that she would never have to pay for the atrocities that her leap into barbarism seemed to allow?”
After the Lübeck bombing, Goebbels approached a state of panic for the first time, describing the damage as “really enormous”. He responded, in April 1942, by saying that he would “bomb every building in England marked with three stars in the Baedeker Guide” – Exeter was now hit in retaliation.
On May 30 the Allies launched what Harris called “the Thousand Plan”, the first thousand-bomber raid. Cologne and Hamburg were singled out for destruction, but on last-minute meteorological advice only the Rhineland city was chosen. Hamburg’s citizens would never know how fate had saved them – if only for another year.
So shocked were the Germans by the attack that the authorities forced the city’s fleeing citizens to sign a pledge of secrecy about what they saw, which ended with the sinister line “I know what the consequences of breaking this undertaking will be”.
Things would only get worse, and the Allies were getting both more destructive and more skilled. In faraway Utah, the Americans were now busy testing the destruction of German-style buildings, even hiring German refugee architect Erich Mendelssohn to recreate a German apartment block.
