Stories from 47 Regt days . . . |
I arrived in Napier Barracks just before my nineteenth birthday, fresh from the training courses at Arborfield. Although we had been told that our technical training would lead to promotion to at least the rank of corporal, this took several months of slow bureaucratic progress and in the meantime I was still a Craftsman (the REME version of Private) which entailed periodic Main Gate guard duty with the RA gunners. When I eventually did get awarded two stripes Regimental Guard Duty became a thing of the past, since the Royal Artillery deemed that it was beneath their dignity to allow Gunners to be commanded by REME NCOs. So I only did two Main Gate guards before getting promoted, and for the second one I drew a weekend slot on a very cold Saturday night in December, and remember reading a magazine after the first two hour stag and chatting to a Gnr Hall who had been brought up in a Dr. Barnardo's home for orphans. The first shift was just bearable, but by the second shift, starting at midnight, the temperature had dropped to well below freezing. I spent as much time as possible occupying the little wooden hut in the middle of the road, which was the only shelter from a howling wind coming off the runway area. Going over to the gate to check incoming traffic was painful, as I should have got my boots re-studded to keep the soles from making contact with the freezing road surface. About fifteen minutes after I came on duty at midnight the entire sky over the trees opposite the gate lit up with a brilliant orange glow, which flickered and then subsided. A few seconds later I heard the tell-tale 'Whumpff' of a really huge explosion, a sound with which I had become only too familiar as a child living in London during the 'Blitz'. Mystified, yet certain of what I had seen and heard, I walked over to the guardroom window to tell the guard commander, a Bombardier who had absolutely no interest in listening to any stories from REME know-it-alls, so I went back to the hut. About 12:35 the guardroom telephone rang, and the Bombadier came running out to tell me to run as fast as possible to the RSM's married quarters, which was one of three next to the old Luftwaffe control tower. One of the more comical sights of my army career was the appearance of an unexpectedly diminutive RSM Brittain in his dressing-gown and carpet slippers trying to control the vestiges of his pillow-tossed balding coiffure as I tried to impart the information that there had been a gas explosion in Aplerbeck and the German police had requested assistance from all available British military units. He told me to tell the guard commander to inform the police that we would have two hundred men there in forty-five minutes, then to take the remaining guard and wake up everybody in 4 Battery, which at that time was located in the building nearest the guardroom. What happened next has always been a lesson to me in how badly things can go wrong if you haven't got a reaction plan to cope with a catasrophe. Half the 4 Bty gunners I roused out of their beds in the middle of the night couldn't understand why a REME sprog with no stripes was telling them to parade outside in the freezing cold in their working denims, and had no intention of doing so. By 1:00 am there were a lot less than twenty of them, and some of those had worn their plimsoles rather than boots and were literally freezing on the sidewalk. Funny what sticks in your mind - I remember seeing two of them shivering in their denims over their pyjamas, but no greatcoat or gloves. By this time Sgt Brown, the duty sergeant that night, had commandeered the duty Champs and gone to evaluate the scene personally, and I went back to my hut. A few minutes later another Champs appeared driven by a WOII who I think was Alan Greenwood, who told me to drive him to the accident area. This wasn't as easy as he obviously thought it would be, since I had never driven anything other than my old 1937 Royal Enfield, and hadn't actually passed anything resembling a driving test even on that. Somebody told me to get into the back seat of the Champs, greatcoat, rifle and all, and off we went to Marsbruchstrasse, about three miles away. One end of the street was littered with debris similar to what I had seen in London, and several houses were on fire. It was hard to tell what had actually happened, but the local theory was that a gas explosion in the ground floor of an apartment building had blown the nearest neighbouring house completely away and set fire to several others. The fire department had only just started to arrive, although several ambulances had been there for some time. Sgt Brown was conspicously trying to make serious rescue attempts among dozens of bystanders gazing helplessly (and uselessly) at the remnants of their neighbourhood. Somebody decided that since I was still carrying my rifle and supposed to be on guard duty I had better get back in the Champs and go back to camp. The rest of the night passed quietly enough, the only flurry of excitement was when Sgt Brown arrived back near daylight, covered in building plaster and grime. I have a recollection of him sitting exhausted and cold on a guardroom chair, and the Bdr guard commandeer telling one of the gunners to quickly brew up some tea for him. As far as I know none of the 4 Bty gunners I had so rudely disturbed from their slumbers had been required; the Bedford 3-tonners to take them on their rescue mission never showed up, and they had all gone back to bed in sublime ignorance of the event. Years later I met Sgt (Now S/Sgt) Brown on guard duty at the warhead compound. We had a long chat about the Aplerbeck explosion, as he had been hailed as a hero in several English newspapers, including the Daily Express and Daily Mail. The only recognition the Army gave him was a chit for a new uniform and boots to replace the ones he had ruined. I recently found the following account in the archives of WestDeutsche-Rundfunk Gmbh, the local Dortmund television station. I would guess from the descriptions that the (unknown) author didn't actually witness the event, but reconstructed it several years afterwards. (S)He doesn't even mention what time of night it happened, and my recollection is that the ambulances were there long before the fire trucks showed up.
| WD-R Article | My translation of WD-R article |
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1959 - Gasexplosion in Dortmund-Aplerbeck
Diesen Adventsonntag werden viele Menschen aus Dortmund-Aplerbeck niemals vergessen. Am 13. Dezember 1959 war es, als der Stadtteil die größte Katastrophe der Nachkriegszeit erlebte. 26 Menschen sterben bei einer Gasexplosion in den Mietshäusern an der Marsbruchstraße. Ein Haus fliegt in die Luft, ein anderes wird durch die Explosion in Brand gesetzt. Die Explosion Sechs Familien liegen im Bett, als plötzlich ihre Wohnungen brennen. Ein Nachbar hält diese Szenen mit seiner Super-8-Kamera fest. Das Haus auf der Marsbruchstraße 2 ist eine einzige Fackel. In Brand gesteckt von der Gasexplosion des Nachbarhauses, das nur wenige Sekunden vorher in die Luft geflogen ist. Heinz Wilhelm Kümper wohnte gleich nebenan: "Es gab einen Knall und das Fenster des Schlafzimmers fiel mit allem , was davor war, auf das Bett", erinnert er sich. "Ein Nachbar von gegenüber rief herüber, dass das Haus der Familie Heiermann nicht mehr steht." Das Haus sackt zusammen Es dauert nur Sekunden bis das Haus nach der Explosion in sich zusammensackt. Die Druckwelle ist so stark, dass noch in einem Umkreis von 200 Metern die Scheiben aus den Fenstern fliegen, parkende Autos werden meterweit zur Seite geschoben. Die Freunde von Heinz Wilhelm Kümper werden unter Trümmern begraben. In dem Haus Nummer 2 kann nur eine Familie gerettet werden, und zwar die Familie, die im Dachgeschoss unter dem Flachdach wohnt. Sie fällt mit dem ganzen Haus vier Stockwerke tief. Dass sie gerettet werden, grenzt praktisch an ein Wunder. 26 Menschen sterben 26 Menschen sterben bei der Gasexplosion in Aplerbeck. Ganze Familien sind ausgelöscht, vier Kinder werden zu Vollwaisen. Die wenigen Überlebenden können die schrecklichen Minuten nicht vergessen, so wie Emma Ruthmann: "Es ging alles in Sekundenschnelle. Mein Mann schrie, dass wir raus müssen und sprang aus dem Fenster. Unten blieb er einfach liegen. Ich hatte nicht den Mut hinterher zu springen." Der Ehemann von Emma Ruhtmann stirbt. Außerdem verliert sie Tochter, Schwiegersohn und Enkel im Feuer. Sie selbst wird schließlich mit der Drehleiter gerettet. Die Retter suchen zwei Tage nach Überlebenden Die Feuerwehr ist zehn Minuten nach der Explosion da. Auch britische Soldaten aus der benachbarten Kaserne helfen. Doch es liegen soviel Trümmer auf der Straße, dass die Männer oft nicht rechtzeitig zu den Menschen kommen, die in den Flammen um ihr Leben kämpfen und in der Not aus dem Fenster springen. Zwei Tage und Nächte suchen die Helfer nach Verletzten, räumen den Schutt weg, dann geben sie auf. Das ganze Land trauert Als die 26 Toten beerdigt werden, trauert das ganze Land. Tausende kommen zum Friedhof. Heute erinnert an der Unglücksstelle nichts mehr an die Katastrophe von 1959. Die Grundstücke sind wieder bebaut, die Überlebenden weggezogen aus der Marsbruchstraße in Dortmund-Aplerbeck. |
1959 - Gas Explosion in Dortmund-Aplerbeck.
This is an Advent Sunday that many people in Dortmund-Aplerbeck will never forget. It was on Dec 13, 1959 that the neighborhood experienced the greatest catastrophe since wartime. 26 people die in a gas explosion in rented apartments in Marsbruchstrasse. One house flies through the air, another is set on fire by the explosion. The Explosion Six families are laying in bed, as suddenly their buildings are burning. A neighbor immortalized the scenes using his Super-8 camera. The house at No 2, Marsbruchstrasse is a single torch set on fire by the gas explosion of the neighboring house which had been blown up only seconds before. Heinz Wilhelm Kumper lived right next door: "There was a boom, and my bedroom window fell in pieces on my bed." he remembers. " A neighbor from across the street yelled over that the house belonging to the Heiermann family is no longer standing." The House Collapses Only a few seconds elapse before the apartment block collapses in following the explosion. The blast is so strong that glass splinters are flying within a radius of 200 meters. Parked cars are being moved several meters. The friends of Heinz Wilhelm Kumper are buried under debris. In the house at No 2 only one family can be saved, actually the family that lives in the attic apartment under the flat roof. They fall four stories with the house. That they are saved borders practically on a miracle. 26 People Die 26 people die from the explosion in Aplerbeck. Entire families are wiped out, and four children are made orphans. The few survivors cannot forget the frightening minutes, like Emma Ruthmann: "It all happened in seconds. My husband shouted that we have to get out, and jumped out the window. He simply lay down there. I didn't have the courage to follow him and jump." Emma Ruthmann's spouse dies. Other than that, she lost her daughter, son-in-law and an uncle in the fire. She herself is saved by means of a fire-ladder. The Rescuers Search Two Days For Survivors The Fire Department gets there ten minutes after the explosion. British soldiers from the nearby barracks also help. But there is so much rubble in the street that the men can't get to the people who are fighting for their lives in time or those who jumped out of windows. For two days and nights the searchers clear away debris looking for casualties, then they give up. The Whole Country Mourns The whole country mourns as the 26 are buried. Thousands come to the cemetery. Today nothing remains of the unfortunate catasrophe of 1959. The foundations have been rebuilt, and the survivors moved away from Marsbruchstrasse in Dortmund-Aplerbeck. |