Category Archives: History

The Geography of our travels around Germany

In 2012 we went on a 10-week family holiday around Europe. We had been thinking about it for a few years and everything came together nicely in the summer of 2012. Barbara’s 30-year high-school reunion was taking place in her hometown in south-western Germany. This gave us some definite dates and places to plan around. We also wanted to see family in other parts of Germany, and friends in Austria and France. Over a few months we worked out a travel plan that used a combination of plane-flights and driving, to criss-cross Europe. At times it felt like we were working on a solution to the travelling salesman problem.

We were very aware that the boys would be missing a number of weeks of school. Understandably their teachers were not happy about this and we needed to make the case that the trip would be educational as well as valuable in the vague, personal sense. So we made a conscious effort to discuss with the boys the history and geography of the places we visited. We tend to discuss things with them anyway so really we were just trying to make the most of a wonderful trip.

A theme that soon became obvious was the river Danube.  Many of the places we were visiting were either on, or close to, the Danube. The Danube flows through many countries but for this trip we would only see it as far downstream as Vienna. In German it is ‘the Donau’, so I’ll use that name from now on. I’ll mention the places we visited, not in chronological order, but according to the river’s flow, starting with its source.

The course of the Danube

The course of the Danube

I suspect the source of any great river is a point of contention. The river-head might be made up of many tiny tributaries so it may not be easy to identify a single source. Hydrologists have rules for determining which tributary is the more major but this might change over time. And speaking of time, it may be that a particular location is regarded as the source for historical reasons. To point out that, say, the Romans regarded a place as the source does carry some historical authority. That is the case with the Donauquelle in the Black Forest town of Donaueschingen. You get an idea of the claim being made by the name of the town. The Donau has two main tributaries: the Brigach and the Breg, but the confluence was originally surrounded by swampy areas.

Donauquelle near Stadtkirche St. Johann Donaueschingen

Donauquelle near Stadtkirche St. Johann Donaueschingen

Information sign at Donauquelle near Stadtkirche St. Johann Donaueschingen.

Information sign at Donauquelle near Stadtkirche St. Johann Donaueschingen.

Here we are at the spring that is supposedly the source. The Roman Emperor Tiberius and various German Emperors came here for a look so maybe it’s true. The spring is now next to (and somewhat below) St John’s church. On the afternoon of our visit the parishioners had held a light lunch to raise funds for church repairs and we were happy to help them eat the left-overs.

Donaueschingen has an elevation of about 680m above sea level. The sign above points out that the mouth of the Donau, at the Black Sea, is some 2840km away. So water really doesn’t need much of a gradient to form a substantial river. (Note: the source of the two tributaries are somewhat higher at about 1000m). The Donau flows generally eastward across southern Germany, through northern Austria, along the border of Slovakia and Hungary, then south through Hungary and Serbia and finally turning east again forming the border between Bulgaria and Romania. It empties into the Black Sea via an extensive delta. The river is often divided into three sections: upper, middle and lower. The upper section ends when the river leaves Austria, so all the places we visited are part of this section.


The Rohrach at Geislingen flows into the Eyb which flows into the Fils which flows into the Neckar at Plochingen, which flows into the Rhine at Mannheim.

Donaueschingen is in the east of the Black Forest. Rain falling on the eastern side of the Black Forest tends to flow into the Donau while rain on the western side ends up in the Rhine (via the Neckar River). However, the hydrology is actually more complex than this suggests. Much of the state of Baden-Württemberg lies on a limestone plateau. The limestone has leached-away forming underground caverns and streams. These underground streams often flow towards the Rhine because it is lower than the Donau. The upshot is that although the Donau appears to have a substantial catchment in this area, in practice much of it does not contribute directly to the Donau. Instead a great deal of the flow is gained from substantial downstream tributaries.

In addition, the source of the Neckar is at Villingen-Schwenningen which is not that far from Donaueschingen! So when traveling around the Black Forest it is hard to know which rain-shower will end up in the Atlantic via the Rhine and which will find itself in the Black Sea via the Donau.

Barbara grew up in Geislingen an der Steige, which is east of the Black Forest. It is not far from Ulm, which in on the Donau. However, Geislingen is on the River Fils, which is a tributary of and flows westward to the Neckar, which, in-turn, flows through Stuttgart and then to the Rhine. Meanwhile at Ulm the Donau flowing northeast.

Geislinger Steige

Train climbing the Geislinger Steige

An explanation is that between Geislingen and Ulm the Swabian Jura rises some hundreds of metres. This low mountain range has provided a barrier to movement and trade between the Neckar and the Donau since before Roman times. The steep climb between Geislingen and Amstetten is called the Geislinger Steige. The B10 road climbs this hill as does a very steep section of the main Stuttgart to Munich railway line.

Whenever in Geislingen we visit the ruins of Burg Helfenstein which overlooks the whole area including the train-line climbing the steige. We have photos taken over decades similar to the one taken on the 2012 trip.


Der Grosser Blau, one of the small streams which flows through Ulm and into the Donau

Der Grosser Blau, one of the small streams which flows through Ulm and into the Donau

Surfing a tributary of the Isar in Munich

Surfing a tributary of the Isar in Munich

The Große Arbersee flows into the Großer Regen, which flows into the Schwarzer Regen, which flows into the Regen which flows into the Donau

The Große Arbersee flows into the Großer Regen, which flows into the Schwarzer Regen, which flows into the Regen which flows into the Donau


The Danube at Passau from the Schanzlbrücke

The Danube at Passau from the Schanzlbrücke




To be continued …

‘How The Emden Was Smashed’, The Age, December 1914

How The Emden Was Smashed

Source:The Age, December 1914


Telegraphed From Perth.
COLOMBO, 16th November.
Scarcely an hour ago I was walking along the lacerated decks of the Australian cruiser Sydney, as she lies in port, and I heard the story of her fight with the Emden in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Even the recital of the bare narrative, the telling of the “plain, unvarnished tale,” is sufficient to stir every fibre of one’s body — to hear that after the first ten minutes’ shooting at a range of from seven to five miles the Emden was at the mercy of our cruiser; that she was afire from her forecastle a little later; that her mast and funnel had gone by the board; that her steering gear had gone, and the Sydney was sending broadside after broadside into her dipping decks; finally, that in half and hour she was a hopeless wreck, and just able to crawl on to the island where she later surrendered, is wonderful.

The Sydney entered into action, making rapid preparations for the approaching conflict. The Emden’s captain knew nothing of the presence of any Australian cruiser in these waters. What he did believe was that the ship he saw approaching so rapidly was some other British war ship, and right up till the concluding phases of the action he believed this. On the other hand, the Emden herself had been mistaken for a British war ship by the operators on Cocos Island. In the falling light of the evening, her identity had not excited the suspicions of the inhabitants, for her color was not distinguishable. Having reconnoitred the harbor and seen that all was safe, or apparently so, the Emden had lain off the island somewhere, and next morning before dawn had steamed into the harbor and dropped anchor close in shore. Still the people at the station were unsuspicious, till the astonished spectators saw one of the funnels, owing to some mischance, wobble and shake, and then fall to the deck in a heap. It was only a painted canvas dummy. There was just time for the wireless operator to rush off to his post and send out the message which was received on the Sydney:— “Strange cruiser at entrance of harbor.”

This revelation at once explained to the operators the origin of the German wireless signals that had been heard overnight. The endeavors of the German to drown the calls for assistance with their high-pitched Telefunken calls were frustrated, till the appearance of a German landing party quickly put a stop to further messages.

But the call had gone forth, and it was picked up before 7 a.m. by the Australian cruiser, with the result that the Sydney went into action steaming at 20 knots an hour, each revolution of the screw gathering headway for her until she was tearing through the water, cutting it with her sharp prow like a knife.

It was not long before those on board her saw lights ahead from the island, and almost at the same moment the top of the masts of the strange vessel. Quickly the funnels rose over the horizon, and by the time the whole ship came into view there was very little doubt in anybody’s mind that it was the notorious Emden.

The Emden opened fire at 9.40 a.m. at her extreme range, slightly under 10,000 yards (about 5 3/4 miles). She let fly a whole broadside, but while this was still in the air our guns had been trained on her and the port batteries had fired. With a shriek the shells came over the heads of the men on the Sydney, while it was seen that our shots had also carried over the chase by about 400 yards. The next broadsides from both ships fell short. One of the gunnery officers in a forward control hardly realised that the combat had commenced when his cap was raised off his head as a shell from the enemy’s third salvo whistled past him and between him and his assistant and carried away the range finder, that was immediately behind him in the centre of the control. The man who had been seated there was almost instantly killed. The captain and other officers were a few feet away, and the shell almost knocked them off their feet. It passed out through the starboard side of the control, and, without exploding, passed through the protecting hammock.

The Germans were firing at a furious rate, and three of their shells would be in the air at one time. A shell struck a raised platform, and gouged a cavity the size of a man’s body along the wall nearest the after funnel, and, passing on out without exploding, struck the deck, and scooped a huge mass of iron out of it, and ricocheted into the water. The five men in this protected position were thrown on the floor wounded in the legs. And while they were still stunned by the contact, another shell tore its way through, bursting as it struck the opposing wall. The enemy’s guns were firing at extreme range, and the angle of descent was steep. Therefore the impact was not so great.

The Emden steamed full speed towards us, making almost due north, but Captain Glossop had read her intent, and had swung sharply to the westward, shearing off so that the Emden could not strike at her desired range. It was a running fight along the port track. On the Sydney, the fire was so rapid that the guns became red hot. The men talked incessantly in the turrets, firing on the signal, never knowing when a shell might knock aside their shield, certain only that danger had passed when a shell went screaming away into the distance. It was a terrible ten minutes. A shell burst open the decks on the forward part, ripping the plates like ribbons, and exploded below in the men’s messroom, the splinters flying in all directions. Great jagged holes were rent in the table, and the concrete floor was chipped as if it were a china plate. Worse damage was the firing of the men’s kits, but this was extinguished before the ship was endangered. The lightning conductor of the after mast was stripped off, and the mast itself grazed, and one of the stays severed, but the mast never wavered, and the flags that flew from the truck were unassailed. A lyddite shell blew two holes in the steam pipes beside the funnel, and exploded behind the third starboard gun, killing instantly two of the crew, and wounding others. As the fragments of the shell rained down on the deck they cut great gashes in it, while the gear of the gun itself was chipped all over, and one of the breach pins blown away. At the time the gun was not in section, for it was the port batteries that were carrying all the fire, but a few minutes later, when the chase rounded, the starboard guns were brought into play, and the gun’s crew changed over to man this gun, which was unimpaired as far as the firing was concerned. The worst damage that resulted from this shell was the firing of some explosives that were lying on deck, and near the gun. At once the hoses were got out, but the smoke covered the ship and enveloped the men as they worked. Fortunately, by the time the starboard guns had to be brought into action the fire was extinguished.

Meanwhile what of the Emden. The greater power of our guns and the appalling accuracy of our fire had in that fight of a quarter of an hour wrought fearful havoc in the enemy’s ship. We were not firing so rapidly as they were, but our aim was surer and the shells went swifter to their mark. With the third or fourth shot the fore funnel of the Emden went with a terrific crash over the side dragging with it stays and rigging. Our guns were finding their mark time after time. The water round the Emden was alive with shot that sent the water over the decks. In another few minutes a whole broadside entered the stern by the after ports, and the shells — there must have been three or four of them — exploded in the interior of the ship, blowing up the deck and twisting the iron plates as if they had been as many inches of cardboard instead of steel, and buckling the deck into a wavy line.

Fire broke out at some points astern, and it is believed, though not definitely known, that this shot wrecked the steering gear as well, for after Emden’s speed appreciably diminished, and she was compelled to steer by her propellers. Thus the after guns were put out of action, while the German wounded have stated that the crew of one of the guns was blown into the water by the shock of the impact. The ship trembled in her course, and shuddered over her whole length.

In the interior the fires were gaining, licking up the wood work and the clothing of the men. The smoke enveloped the whole of the stern, gushed from the hatches and from the ports, smothering the wounded that lay about the decks. It mixed with the smoke and steam from the engineroom. The plates became white hot, and the crew was forced farther forward, but the after funnel came crashing down, cut off near the deck, and the interior funnel fell out and dragged in the water. The after control had gone as well, and our next salvo shot the foremast completely away and wrecked the whole of the fore control, bringing the rigging and iron plates and sand bags and hammocks down on the men, mingling them in an indistinguishable ghastly heat. The Germans’ fire had by this time slackened considerably. In the first quarter of an hour they had been firing broadside, and the Emden had doubled twice like a hare, bringing alternative broadsides into play.

But the Sydney was unscathed, her speed unimpaired, and her engines working wonderfully, at one time topping 27 knots. She was easily able to keep off, taking the greater circle, and steam as she pleased. On the second time of doubling, when the fire from the enemy had died away to a faint spitting from an occasional gun, the Sydney ran in close to within 4000 yards, and fired a torpedo. The direction was good, but it stopped short. The Sydney continued to pour broadsides into her, sweeping her decks and riddling her sides.

The Emden’s fate was now rendered inevitable. Fires burst from her decks at all points. Smoke covered her from stem to stern, and at one period she was obscured from view. As the smoke of our guns cleared away the gunners saw the burning ship, and ceased fire. “She’s gone; she’s gone!” they shouted, their pent up feelings bursting forth. “Man the lifeboats.” Cheers rent the air, but the next minute the Emden emerged from the smoke, firing, and they returned to their guns. Now the third and last remaining funnel went by the board. It was the centre funnel which had toppled over to port. The crew had been driven to the forecastle, which was practically undamaged. The ship was in flames in several parts, the decks were white hot, and the end came when the vessel struck on North Keeling Island, her nose high up on the reef.

The captain of the Sydney, Captain Glossop, decided to give the foe two more broadsides, and these went below the water line. Still her flag was flying from the after mast head, and she showed no signs of surrender.

Meanwhile the German cruiser’s collier had come up, and the Sydney had guns trained on her, and gave chase. At 12.10 she caught her, and fired a gun across her bows, calling on the collier to stop. This the Germans did, having first taken measures to scuttle the ship by removing the seacock. An armed crew put off from the Sydney, and found that the collier was the Bareska, a captured British collier. It was impossible to save the ship, so the crew, including eighteen Chinese and an English steward, a Norwegian cook and a German prize crew of three officers, one warrant officer and twelve men, were placed in boats and were taken in tow by the Sydney. The cruiser fired four shells into the collier, which quickly sank beneath the waves. The Sydney proceeded back to the Emden, and passed some survivors of the Emden struggling in the water. They had been blown overboard at an early period, and were almost exhausted. As the waters were infested with sharks their escape was all the more remarkable. Finding the Emden had still her colors up, the Sydney signalled in the international code, without obtaining any answer, so there was nothing for it but to fire further broadsides, and these with deadly accuracy again found their place below the water line. Then the German captain hauled down his ensign, with the iron cross in the middle and the German Jack in the corner, and hoisted the white flag.

It was by this time 5 o’clock, and the Sydney at once steamed back to pick up the boats of the Bareska. Returning, she rescued two more German sailors on the way. A boat was sent off to the Emden, manned by her own prize crew and an officer, and the captain was informed that the Sydney would return next morning and render what assistance was possible.

There were obvious reasons for observing this precaution. The German cruiser was an absolute wreck on the southern shores of the island, and the surf beat so furiously that it would have been impossible for the boats to approach in the dark with safety. Assistance did not come from the island, for it had been deserted for ten years.

As the Sydney approached the cable station she learned there for the first time that much had been happening on shore. The Germans at daybreak that morning had landed a crew, consisting of three officers and 40 men, with three Maxims, in charge of the first officer, for the purpose of taking possession of the cable station and wireless plant on Direction Island, from which anchorage the Emden had emerged. Not having met with any resistance, as the population of the island is only about 38 souls, and the island is the private property of the Eastern Extension Company, the Germans had proceeded leisurely with their work, when they found the Emden signalling furiously to them to return. Not having time to get away in the heavy boats, they saw their ship steam away to meet the smoke on the horizon that was rapidly resolving itself into a cruiser. With the other people from the station, the Germans proceeded to the roof of the largest building, where they watched the fight from beginning to end. They seem to have awaited the result with absolute confidence, and it was not until the broadside from the Sydney carried away the Emden’s funnel that the inhabitants were hurried below and placed under an armed guard. With what feelings the Germans must have seen their cruiser blown to pieces can be imagined. They waited until the Sydney had gone off after the collier, and then seized a schooner that was lying in the harbor, the Ayesha, of 70 tons burden, with no auxiliary engine.

The party at once proceeded to put out of action the cable and wireless stations and destroyed the instruments of the latter and cut one of the cables. Supplies were obtained for three months cruise, water was taken aboard, and the schooner was loaded up, so that by the time the Sydney once again approached from the north after her last shots at the Emden, the craft was ready for sea, and just at dusk hauled off. The Sydney was on her way at the time, heading straight for Direction Island, and would in all probability have sighted the departing schooner had not she stopped to pick up another German, who was swimming in the water. He too had been blown off his vessel at the commencement of the action. In the dark the schooner slipped by and escaped.

The casualties on the Sydney had not been heavy for such an engagement. There were three killed and one seriously wounded (since died), four seriously wounded, four wounded and four slightly wounded. Early next morning the Sydney once again steamed back to the Emden. The whole ship was in the most appalling condition.

The men who remained alive on board were nearly half mad with thirst or so stunned that they did not feel anything at all, and were unable to appreciate their position or help themselves. They had all been without water for almost two days, as our shots had wrecked the tanks. The fires had for the same reason to burn themselves out, and though the decks now were cool, the charred bodies that lay round showed what an inferno it must have been as she ran onto the reef. It was a work of the utmost difficulty getting the wounded and even those who were uninjured into the boats.

The stern of the Emden had been shot away, and her decks up to the bows were rent and torn in all directions, while the plates were buckled, bolts had sprung, and the ship was falling to pieces. Nearly every gun had been put out of action, and by some means whole gun crews had been incinerated inside the armored shields. Our lyddite and shrapnel had done appalling work. The aim of our guns must have been deadly in the extreme, and one prisoner admitted quite frankly to an officer, “Your artillery was magnificent.” The last man rescued from the ship was the captain. The captain and a cousin of the Kaiser, who was second torpedo officer and just 20 years of age, were amongst those who had not sustained any injuries.

During the absence of the Sydney a party of 20 men had managed to get ashore to the island. Either they had scrambled from the bows of the wrecked cruiser on to the reef, or they had simply been washed unconscious ashore. It was too late that evening to rescue these men, and it was not till the next morning that the cutter was put off at the westward side of the island on a sandy beach, landing at 5 a.m. The party on shore was in a terrible state. They had been too dazed to attempt even to get the coconuts for food and drink. A German doctor had insisted on drinking sea water, and had gone mad, and died the previous day.

In the meantime the Sydney returned to Direction Island, and took back the doctor and assistant that had been left to tend the wounded, and she was back again by 10 o’clock. The remaining wounded and prisoners were embarked at 10.35, and the Sydney headed for Colombo.

The Sydney resembled a hospital ship. On her decks the men were laid out side by side, and their wounds were attended to as well as possible. The worst cases were given accommodation below, the doctors working day and night to help them in their agony. The heat from the ship and the heat from the sun of the tropics made the conditions dreadful. The prisoners and wounded had scarcely any clothes on at all. One man had a gash in his chest, and he had tied a kimono in a knot and plugged the wound with it by means of a piece of cord. Otherwise he was naked.

The death roll on the cruiser had been appalling. There had been 12 officers killed and 119 men. The wounded taken on board were 56, while there were 115 prisoners, including 11 officers. Many of the wounded subsequently died of their hurts.

The prisoners were placed in the cows, with a small guard over them. A converted cruiser met the Sydney and a great number of the wounded were taken off and then the two vessels proceeded to port.

It was only on close inspection that I could discover the scars which the crew point to now with such pride. A casual glance would have detected in the side a hole about as big as a saucer on the port quarter. This had been the result of one of the high trajectory shots. Owing to the great elevation possible with German guns it had made a curious passage for itself, having missed the funnels and entered a galley amidships, tearing a rent in a steam pipe as it went. Then it traversed a passage and blew away portion of a fitting of an officer’s cabin before it passed between the legs of a desk and out of the side of the ship without exploding. This tracing of the course of the shells was fascinating. I could see where the paint had been scorched off the control stations and where the hammocks that would protect the men from flying splinters were burned brown and black or dyed crimson with blood.

Looking in at the door of one of the messrooms below I was told that one of the crew was standing in that position when he heard a shell strike the side and try to pierce the armor plate. He did not wait long enough to see the great blister it raised — almost as large as a football — before it fell back spent in to the sea. The men were below writing home as I went through to the bow to see the damage done by the shell which had torn up the decks. Some of the men were washing. They laughed when they pointed to the places, now filled up with cement, where the shells had burst, and they showed the notice board and graft flues riddled with holes.

As far as the interior of the ship was concerned, I saw nothing else that suggested an action except the officers’ cabin through which the shell had passed. The only knowledge the engineers had of the action was the distant rumbling of the guns and a small fragment of a lyddite shell that tumbled somehow down a companionway. I wondered if too great praise can be bestowed on the engineers for their work in this crisis.

From 9 a.m, — just before she got into action — until noon, when she left the Emden a wreck on North Keeling Island, the Sydney steamed 68 miles at speeds varying between 15 and 27 knots. As I grew more accustomed to look for the chipped off portions of the ship, I marked the places where shells must have just grazed the decks and fittings. All the holes had been filled in with cement, and the stays had been repaired and the damaged steam pipe was working again. The only break in the water supply for the ship was the cutting off for a few minutes of the refrigerating plant. As I went round while the officers accounted for the whole of the fourteen shots, I wondered how many times the Emden had been hit. It must have been more than 100 times. Our gunners had fired about 650 rounds, the starboard guns firing more than the port, while the German cruiser had fired 1500 rounds, and had practically exhausted all the ammunition that they had. It was not possible for them to fire a torpedo, for the chamber had been destroyed by a shot from our guns quite early in the action.

When the full story of the battle comes to be written, from first to last, no more sterling action will be recorded than that of a petty officer who was in a station when it was wrecked at the outset of the battle. You will recall that two shots got home here, and both injured the five men stationed there. The wounds were nearly all about the legs, and the men were unable to walk, yet they knew that their only chance for their lives was to leave this place as soon as possible. Shells were screaming past. The ship shook under the discharge of the guns.

Less badly wounded than his mates, a petty officer managed to stand, and, though in intense pain, half fell, half lowered himself from this position, which is about 5 feet above the deck. The remainder of the party had simply to throw themselves to the deck, breaking their fall as best they could. The five men pulled themselves across the decks by their hands, wriggling on their stomachs until they reached the companionway. They were all making up their minds to fall down this ladder as well, as their only means of getting below, when the gallant petty officer struggled to his feet and carried his mates down the companionway one by one. As a feat this alone is no mean task, but executed under the conditions, it was a magnificent action of devotion, sacrifice and heroism.