circa 1917. This ship's clock is the piece that was mounted in the control gondola above the steering wheel. The clock was manufactured by Junghans, with white enameled dial, maker's designation in the center, Arabic numerals. The case is nickel-plated, with permanently attached key on the underside for winding the clock, the base plate engraved with “L 55 Höhenrekord 7600 1./20.10.1917”, the case with angled base plate for mounting “overhead” in the control gondola. The clock was mounted on an angled wooden base, fully functional, in good condition. From specialized literature, excellent reproduction photographs of a control gondola showing the ship's clock clearly visible, as well as L 55 from its last departure for the attack on October 19, 1917.

From the estate of former crew member Obermaschinistenmaat Hünicke, photographs of his remaining estate included.
A piece of historic museum significance.

L55 was built in summer 1917 as LZ101 and commissioned into service with the German Imperial Navy on September 1, 1917. On October 19, it launched together with 10 other Zeppelins on its second mission, a night attack on London. As they approached the city, they came under anti-aircraft fire, but at approximately 5,500 meters this was not a major problem. Instead, the ships had to face a far worse and more unpredictable enemy: the weather. Three of the airships did not even reach the target and had to turn back. After the ships had dropped their bomb loads — approximately 2 tons each — they headed back home.

Due to bad weather, L55 went off course and lost the group. The hull was slightly damaged and two of the five engines failed. The more or less disoriented L55 continued its flight westward to escape over the North Sea and then return to base at Ahlhorn, Northern Germany. But by now the ship was in a hopeless battle against the elements, and the crew had no idea where they were or which direction they were going. Captain Flemming was confident the ship was still on course, but the other crew members doubted they were even moving. And so the hours passed — almost silent in the cabin. When morning broke, the sea was visible, but which one?

Suddenly AA fire. Flemming knew: “Only Dover shoots so accurately!” They were drifting south, directly toward the front. In the further course of the flight it got worse: L55 was caught in the so-called “Cow-Wind”, a treacherous current over the Channel feared among airship crews. The damaged Zeppelin was recaptured by the forces of nature. Another engine failed, and the ship drifted toward the awakening front, where enemy aircraft were ready to intercept. Since L55 was one of the new “Height Climbers” of the V-class, Flemming gave the order to climb above 6,000 meters to avoid the danger.

But once again the weather played along and would not let the ship go. L55 flew further upward and the crew could not regain control. The fight against unconsciousness from cold and oxygen deprivation made it even more difficult. After a while the stern of the ship sank and L55 became stuck again at 7,600 meters. To this day, this is the altitude world record for airships. Every attempt to free the ship was unsuccessful, and desperation arose. The only option was to make the ship nose-heavy. A crew member climbed into the hull to bring the men from the engine gondolas at the rear to the control car at the front. The 200 meters forward, along a steep angle, were incredibly difficult for the nearly unconscious men, but after a while they arrived.

L55 finally began to descend again. Only one engine was still running, radio contact broke down. The ship was disoriented again, but moving and even on course — at least according to Captain Flemming. By now he believed they were over Germany again. He gave the order to descend below the clouds, where they were overwhelmed by heavy rainfall. The terrain beneath them was hilly, now they were certain this was not near their base. Flemming decided to lower the long-range radio antenna to establish contact with an airfield, but it immediately broke off when it hit a tree, nearly taking the ship with it.

L55 now followed a railway line and read the sign at the first appearing station. It said Immelborn. Flemming leafed through the maps and doubted this place even existed. But there it was! They were in western Thuringia, in the middle of Germany and had missed their base by around 400 kilometers. Nevertheless, the crew was glad to have reached friendly territory. L55 had lost much fuel and propellant, the Zeppelin airfield at Gotha was too far away. After passing the town of Bad Salzungen and nearly hitting the church steeple there, Flemming decided on an emergency landing in the first suitable field. Originally he had planned to fly a “test round”, but the ship decided otherwise and went down immediately. The first men jumped out and tied L55 to a tree, on which the rope remained until it was cut down in the 1980s. The stern was still hovering, but a few minutes later, around 6:15 PM, the flight of L55 ended after over 30 hours. The ship came to rest in a field near the village of Tiefenort, where I happen to live today.

After 15 minutes the first villagers came and brought food and other supplies. Many were surprised that only 20 men crawled out of the gigantic ship. The crew stayed overnight in the village, and our fire department guarded the ship overnight. For our small village this was an absolute sensation at the time. No one had seen such a Zeppelin before, some did not even know such a thing existed.

Despite the loss of much gas and hull damage sustained from anti-aircraft fire and the crash, L55 was only lightly damaged. Flemming actually believed he could simply take off again the next day and fly home. A train with supplies was called from the Zeppelin works in Friedrichshafen to make the ship airworthy again. But the railway was so overloaded with troop transports that it took four days to arrive. Meanwhile, the ship was irreparably damaged by a storm on the second night.

L55 had to be dismantled on site. The aluminum of the skeleton was recycled in war production, the waterproof envelope was given to the villagers. For the next months the whole village was dressed in black, with clothes made from airship envelope. I know some people who still have original parts of the hull at home. The guy who does all the research on L55 and even maintains contact with relatives of crew members also owns a fairly large piece of one of the propellers. It was given to his grandfathers by Capt. Flemming himself, as he slept in their house.

20 years later, a Zeppelin memorial stone was erected where the ship landed. All former crew members were there when it was completed. There is also a small information plaque with some original photographs of the crashed ship and the crew members.

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The Aircraft Clock from Marine Airship L 55 – Witness to a Standing World Record

Among the surviving artifacts of Imperial Germany's naval airship service, few objects carry as powerful a combination of technical craftsmanship and dramatic operational history as this Borduhr (aircraft clock), manufactured by Gebr. Junghans of Schramberg, Germany, circa 1917. Junghans was the foremost supplier of military aircraft timepieces to the German armed forces during the First World War, producing a greater volume of aviation clocks than competitors Kienzle and Schlenker-Grusen. This particular clock was installed in the control gondola (Führergondel) of the Marine-Luftschiff L 55 (manufacturer designation LZ 101), mounted above the steering wheel where it served the crew as an essential instrument for navigation and operational timing during combat missions.

The clock features a nickel-plated case with a white enameled dial bearing Arabic numerals and the manufacturer's name “Junghans” at center. Its base plate is angled to permit overhead mounting in the control gondola, and a fixed winding key is attached to the underside for winding the mechanical movement. Most significantly, the base plate bears the engraved inscription: “L 55 Höhenrekord 7600 1./20.10.1917” — a permanent record of one of the most extraordinary events in airship history. The clock is described as fully functional and in good condition, displayed on an angled wooden base.

L 55 and the Imperial Naval Airship Service

L 55 was built in the summer of 1917 as LZ 101 by Luftschiffbau Zeppelin and commissioned into the Imperial German Navy (Kaiserliche Marine) on September 1, 1917, stationed at the Ahlhorn airship base in northern Germany. It was one of the new V-class “Height Climbers,” Zeppelins specifically engineered to reach extreme altitudes in order to evade increasingly effective Allied anti-aircraft defenses and interceptor aircraft.

Command of L 55 was held by Kapitänleutnant Hans-Kurt Flemming, born November 30, 1886, in Stettin. Flemming had earned his airship commander certification in March 1917 and was promoted to Kapitänleutnant in July of that year. He commanded L 55 from September 8 to October 20, 1917, conducting a total of three missions.

The “Silent Raid” and the Flight of L 55

On October 19, 1917, L 55 departed on its second combat mission as part of an eleven-Zeppelin raid on England, an operation that became known as the “Silent Raid.” What began as a coordinated night bombing attack devolved for the crew of L 55 into a harrowing 30-hour struggle for survival against the elements.

During the return flight, L 55 was damaged by anti-aircraft fire, suffered multiple engine failures, and became disoriented in severe weather conditions. To escape enemy aircraft, Flemming ordered the ship to climb. However, the crew lost control of the ascent, and L 55 was driven to ever-greater heights. The men suffered from extreme altitude sickness — blood flowed from their noses, mouths, and ears — while temperatures plummeted to minus 30 degrees Celsius. At this desperate juncture, the airship reached an altitude of 7,600 meters (approximately 24,900 feet), establishing a world altitude record for airships that has never been surpassed.

Only through a daring maneuver — moving nearly unconscious crew members 200 meters forward along the steeply angled hull from the rear engine gondolas to the control gondola — did the men manage to shift the ship's weight forward and initiate a descent. With only one engine still running and no radio communication, L 55 drifted disoriented over German territory. Flemming eventually identified the airship's location by reading a railway station sign — Immelborn — and realized they were in western Thuringia, approximately 400 kilometers from their base at Ahlhorn.

On October 20, 1917, at approximately 6:15 PM, Flemming executed an emergency landing. L 55 came to rest in a field near the village of Tiefenort in Thuringia. All 20 crew members survived without injury. Although there were initial hopes of repairing the ship and flying it back to base, a storm irreparably damaged the grounded airship during the second night. L 55 was dismantled on site by the end of October 1917. The aluminum skeleton was recycled for war production, while the waterproof fabric envelope was given to local villagers, who fashioned clothing from it in the months that followed.

Provenance and Legacy

The clock derives from the estate of Obermaschinistenmaat Hünicke, a crew member of L 55. Accompanying the piece are reproduction photographs from specialist literature showing a control gondola with the clock visible in its mounted position, as well as images of L 55 from its last departure.

Kapitänleutnant Flemming survived the war and went on to a distinguished career in civilian airship aviation. He completed 55 voyages aboard the legendary LZ 127 Graf Zeppelin, including the celebrated around-the-world flight of 1929. He died on February 15, 1935, in Weingarten.

In 1937, twenty years after the emergency landing, a memorial stone (Zeppelinstein) was erected at the landing site on the “Wacht” near Tiefenort. The dedication ceremony was attended by Captain Flemming and surviving crew members. The memorial continues to be maintained by local volunteers to this day. The history of L 55 is also featured in the Zeppelin Museum Friedrichshafen.

This Borduhr represents an artifact of genuine museum-quality significance. It unites the precision craftsmanship of Germany's leading wartime clock manufacturer with direct witness to one of the most dramatic episodes in First World War aviation — a world altitude record for airships that remains unbroken more than a century later.