The Airshipmen: A Novel Based on a True Story. A Tale of Love, Betrayal & Political Intrigue.

by David Dennington

  There was an awkward silence. “Visiting Scotland are you? Business?” she asked finally.

  “Oh, just a little holiday, visiting a dear friend.”

  Thomson looked at the boy again. “What about airships, son? Do you like airships?”

  “No, I hate ’em. They’re stupid and they always crash and burn,” the kid sneered.

  Two days later, most London newspapers carried the photograph of MacDonald and Thomson shaking hands at Aberdeen Station. They seemed to approve of Thomson being in the running for a cabinet post, if Labour should be victorious. Some conservative newspapers, not wishing to miss an opportunity, grumbled that he’d be getting in ‘by the back door’—unable to get himself elected, as legitimate people are required to do. Over the photographs of the two men, they led with headlines:

  THOMSON A POSSIBLE CABINET PICK?

  And

  ENTER LORD THOMSON OF CARDINGTON!

  They reported if Labour came to power, Thomson would likely become Secretary of State for Air. The title bearing the name ‘Cardington’ had been leaked. This led to speculation about the resurrection of the airship industry—a good prospect for those in need of work—but for others, another inevitable disaster in the making.

  PART THREE

  RISE OF THE PHOENIX TWINS

  5

  LOU AND CHARLOTTE

  August - October 1921.

  It was 10:50 a.m. November 11, 1918. Lou was moving forward with his platoon, his brothers-in-arms, his buddies. What had started as gleeful morning was ending disastrously; they’d first been ordered to stay in their trenches and keep their heads down. They’d survived the war and the slaughter would finally end at 11:00 a.m. But later, orders came down for them to attack. Incredulous and angry, the soldiers reluctantly climbed the ladders up and out on to the battlefield. They moved forward, keeping as low as they could. Lou couldn’t see the enemy, but he heard the whine of the bullets slicing the air and hitting the bodies of men close to him—sop-sop-sop—sop-sop-sop.

  The Germans were calling out. “Go back Yankee dogs, go home. It’s over!”

  He peered through the fog and smoke recognizing the uniforms of English and American crewmen from R38. Those in front and beside him, including Potter, Bateman and Josh were mowed down by machine guns or blown to pieces with deafening artillery shells. They fell writhing in pain into the mud, crying out for their mothers, guts hanging out, faces blown away, legs and arms blown off.

  Some cried out to him, “Lou, help me. Help me, please.”

  He moved on, miraculously unscathed and untouched. He stepped over the bodies of New York Johnnie, Bobby in his parachute, Gladstone, Al Jolson—not Jerry Donegan, the real Al Jolson in black-face—and then the dead German boy who lay staring up at him with cold, accusing eyes, babbling in German, “Sie morder! Sie morder! Murderer! Murderer!”

  Lou turned to see Charlotte behind him, a shaft of sunlight falling upon her. She appeared pristine and beautiful in her perfect white apron and headscarf. She stood amongst the officers of R38 in dress uniform, in the battered control car resting on the battlefield. Charlotte reached for him, imploring him not to go forward, but the others urged him on. Capt. Wann stood nearby, his face burnt and stony, his uniform saturated in blood.

  “You could’ve warned us, Remington! March forward and die, you bastard!” the commodore shouted.

  “He knew this would happen,” Capt. Maxfield sneered.

  “He knew all right. Let him die,” Capt. Wann said coolly.

  And lastly, off to one side, was Lou’s father, about forty, hands on hips, hair receding, face angular. His penetrating eyes were mean and accusing, his lips drawn back in contempt. He said nothing. He didn’t have to.

  Lou woke, crying out, wretched and confused. He sat up and looked across the dark ward, not knowing where he was or when it was. Charlotte rushed into the ward and turned on a light beside his bed. She put her arms around him, putting her face close to his. “There, there, my dear. It’s all right. Don’t fret—you’re safe,” she said.

  The dead men in Lou’s mind were out of control. Lou’s injuries were healing satisfactorily, but at night he had terrible nightmares, many of them about New York Johnny. He sometimes dreamed he was over the cat ladder coaxing the boy down to the engine car, below them the river estuary, its surface a sea of molten lava like a scene from Dante’s Inferno.

  “Come on, Johnnie! You can do it,” Lou would yell.

  “I don’t want to. Please don’t make me, sir. Please!”

  Lou would wake up and lie there unable to go back to sleep. The doctors told him these dreams might get worse for a time. And they did. In another dream, he stood at the divide as the airship began to break in two, he on the flaming side, Charlotte on the other. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make the leap across the widening chasm. He watched Charlotte as he fell away from her, descending into the dark abyss.

  Long before the inquiry, just after the crash of R38, Lou’s decision to remain in Hull became firm. His dread of returning to the United States stayed with him, although he sorely missed his parents and his brother and sister. He wrote from the hospital, asking them to forgive him for not coming home just now; he needed to sort himself out. He also let them know about the matter of a certain nurse he’d become rather taken with. “Smitten” would’ve been more accurate.

  He’d never encountered a creature so exquisite. It wasn’t only her beauty; she had a wonderful intellect. She brought her favorite books in for him to read, and he became an ardent reader of British classics. If he returned to the U.S., Charlotte would have to be at his side. Lou stayed in hospital for three weeks where Charlotte nursed him. During this time, their affection grew to a level of intensity neither could have imagined. Old Mrs. Tilly would’ve been delighted.

  Josh, Bateman and Potter left the hospital after a couple of days, their physical injuries only slight, but they visited Lou each day. They marveled at the relationship between Lou and Charlotte and boasted they’d seen it coming. Lou and Charlotte couldn’t disagree, but Lou was filled with questions about life in general.

  The ‘Wiggy thing’ got to him and would become a bizarre, recurring thing in his life. By a twist of fate, Wiggins, the engineer, who failed to report the day they took off, had escaped death. He visited Lou in hospital and apologized. His car had broken down and he’d arrived as the ship was lifting from the ground. Lou smiled, telling him he’d been miffed at the time, but glad for him now.

  “Somebody up there likes you, Wiggins,” Lou told him.

  A week after the crash, a massive funeral procession for British victims passed by the hospital on its way to Western Cemetery. While church bells tolled across the city, patients and nurses crowded at the windows, watching in silence. Charlotte allowed Lou to get up and stood beside him. They saw Potter and Bateman marching solemnly in the procession, their heads bowed. After twenty minutes, Lou went back to bed. A few days after that, he was informed that the bodies of the dead American officers and crewmen were being sent to Davenport and then by sea to Brooklyn Naval Yard. Three, including the captain, would be buried in Arlington National Cemetery, overlooking Washington D.C.—a place Lou regarded as home.

  Before August 24th, Lou had intended to extend his Navy enlistment when he got back to the States. After the crash, everything changed. The Navy told him to take as much time as he needed to recuperate. He’d served his country well, and whatever he decided, the Navy would respect his decision. All this was conveyed to Lou by Lt. Jensen, his immediate senior officer.

  The lieutenant also told Lou that the newspapers wanted an interview and it might be a good idea, if he was well enough. Lou agreed and they sat and discussed an outline of what would be divulged. Only the human side of the tragedy could be talked about: the cause of the crash and events on board the airship were ‘off limits.’ The two men met with reporters next day, including the unshaven George Hunter, from the Daily Express who left him a business ca
rd.

  Matron surprised Lou a couple of days later, announcing he’d be receiving visitors within the hour. ‘Top brass’ she said, from the U.S. Navy would be ‘on deck’ (as they put it), to pay him a visit. The nurses got Lou looking spiffy, sat him up, and wheeled his bed to an open area of the ward. Within the hour, a magnificent troupe of fifteen U.S. Navy men in dress uniform marched solemnly in step into the ward and stood at each side of Lou’s bed. Among them were Cmdr. Horace Dyer, Maj. Scott, Walter Potter, Henry Bateman, Josh Stone, five reporters, and four photographers. The nurses and patients who were well enough gathered around Lou’s bed. Charlotte stood beside Lou at the head. The voice of the imposing Cmdr. Dyer boomed down the ward.

  “Chief Petty Officer Remington volunteered for the U.S. Marines in 1916 and served with distinction in the Belleau Wood and Saint-Mihiel offensives in France where he ended the fight in the Verdun sector until the last day of the war. After that, he joined the U.S. Navy and served with the Airships Division in Lakehurst before coming to England where he took a crucial role in the development of the U.S. Airship Program. It is an honor, Chief Petty Officer Remington, on behalf of the United States Navy, to award you the Navy Cross for bravery, exhibited at the time of the tragic accident that occurred to Airship ZR-2 at 17:29 hours on August 24th of this year. This medal is awarded for heroic, unselfish action taken in saving lives of your crewmen, as well as the ship's cat Fluffy.” There were titters and smiles at mention of the cat.

  “You showed resolve and leadership and by your actions three men were saved, while 44 regrettably perished. You sir, by order of President Warren G. Harding, the Commander-in-Chief, are now promoted to the rank of lieutenant. On behalf of the United States Navy and the Government of the United States, I now say, thank you and God bless you, Lieutenant Louis Remington!”

  Cmdr. Dyer moved closer to Lou, and Lt. Jensen handed him the medal. He towered over Lou like a giant, pinning the cross to his chest over his pajamas. He stepped back and saluted Lou.

  “Lieutenant!” he snapped.

  Lou stared at the commander in astonishment. The cameras flashed, and everyone gathered around the bed and down the ward, cheered and clapped. Lou was unable to speak. Charlotte stood with tears flowing down her cheeks. After handshakes all round, the contingent marched out with the press ordered not to linger. However, George Hunter from the Daily Express did linger, and chatted with Lou for a few minutes. The following day, stories and photographs appeared in the British and American newspapers about Lou and he became an international hero. And Fluffy became famous.

  After three weeks, Lou got discharged and returned to his digs on Castle Street. His face healed rapidly, but his arm was still in a cast, making it impossible to ride his motorbike. Frustratingly, there was little he could do but rest up at his flat and read novels, but at least he got to meet Charlotte at the end of her shift each day.

  They usually walked along the waterfront for an hour, regardless of weather. Those walks were harrowing, with Lou staring out at the swirling black water. But Charlotte was determined they face their fears. Afterwards, they would go to Charlotte’s flat where she prepared a meal while Lou fed Fluffy (whom Charlotte had managed to retrieve from the unhappy boat captain) and lit a coal fire in the tiny fireplace.

  After their meal, Charlotte would light a candle and they’d snuggle down on the sofa—chaperoned by Fluffy, who supervised from the sofa arm. They often chatted well into the night, until the fire had become a flicker, and the room chilly. Charlotte asked about his family and he told her about growing up on his grandfather’s farm in Great Falls. He spoke of his folks proudly, although she sensed there was friction between Lou and his father. Charlotte told him how she’d begun nursing and how she’d been sent to London for training—there, she’d seen her first airship, but she didn’t elaborate. Lou noticed her cringe as she spoke of it.

  They touched on their previous brushes with the opposite sex. Charlotte told him about meeting Robert on a bus and how they’d spent the day ambling around the city together stopping at various cafés and an art gallery. Robert was leaving for the Front the following day. He asked for her address and she gave it to him. She never heard from him again. She said besides Lou, he was the only decent boy she’d ever met. She told him there was no need to be jealous. Robert was most likely dead like all the rest. Just ‘passing ships’, she said. Lou sensed her loss, but understood.

  All too soon, it came time for Lou to trudge back to his own flat through the misty night. Their kissing and cuddling often became intense and Lou wished he could stay over, but never suggested it. His respect for Charlotte never waned; that would’ve been unthinkable. But it got to the point where they could hardly bear to be out of one another’s sight, or out of each other’s arms. Charlotte made up her mind—she wanted his children one day—one day soon.

  In October, Lou’s sling came off and he took the motorbike for a spin around the city while Charlotte was at work. It felt good to be back in the saddle. The next day, he rode to Howden Air Station where his Navy friends came out to welcome him. They made a fuss, shaking hands and patting him on the back, genuinely proud of him. They told him they were cleaning the place up and removing all their stuff and going home at the end of the month. “Nothing to stick around here for,” they said. Lou knew he’d be sorry when they went. The massive, double-bayed shed, covering more than seven acres, stood eerily quiet. It was completely empty, save for a toolbox and a few bits of scaffolding. Out front, a mountain of debris and scrap metal had been piled, ready to be hauled off.

  After chatting for an hour, Lou rode off, feeling pretty damned low. When he met Charlotte later in the day, she sensed his mood and tried to buck him up, obviously worried he might up and leave, too. He put his arms around her and reassured her he’d never run out on her.

  A couple of weeks later, Lou wore his new dress blues and went back to the Howden shed where three charabancs waited for Americans from the surrounding area. They were bound for Southampton to board a U.S. Navy destroyer. More than two hundred people were gathered, many of them young women come to say tearful goodbyes—a few temporary, most, forever.

  Josh was in uniform like the rest, and he and Lou said their farewells.

  “I just got my orders, sir,” Josh said, as pleased as punch.

  “Where are they sending you?” Lou asked.

  “I’ve been assigned to the Shenandoah under construction at Lakehurst.”

  Lou looked apprehensive.

  “Hey, don’t worry about me, sir. It can’t happen twice—not to me!”

  “Be careful, Josh.”

  “I’m golden now—indestructible—and that ship’s gonna be using helium—no danger of fire, sir.”

  “Just the same, don’t take chances.”

  “Sir, do you think you might head back home soon? Maybe you’d be assigned to the Shenandoah, too.”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’m gonna rest up here for a while.”

  “I don’t blame you for that, sir. You certainly are lucky …”

  Lou knew he wasn’t just alluding to their miraculous escape.

  “I owe you my life, sir. I’ll always be grateful.”

  “Don’t be silly, Josh.”

  “I’ll make sure and get down and see your folks in Virginia.”

  “I’d appreciate that. They’d love it if you did,” Lou said.

  “If there’s anything I can do for you—let me know, sir.

  “I will. Stay in touch.”

  “Good luck to you and Charlotte. She’s very fine, sir.”

  Josh stepped back, stood stiffly to attention and saluted Lou, looking him squarely in the eye. A feeling of dread passed over Lou as he returned the salute.

  “Remember what I said,” Lou told him.

  “Don’t you worry, sir, I’ll be fine.”

  Lou had a sinking feeling as he watched those little green buses drive away. He thought about his family in Virginia and felt like a deserter. And un
bearably lonely.

  6

  LOW ACKWORTH VILLAGE

  October 1921.

  Later that month, Lou and Charlotte took a train to Charlotte’s home in Low Ackworth, near Pontefract, fifty miles from Hull. “Where they make the liquorice sticks,” Charlotte told him proudly. They tramped along Station Road in the sunshine over a carpet of gold and yellow rustling at their feet. Lou was taken by the beauty of the stone village set among the farms and streams and had a sense of déjà vu. Perhaps it was that exquisite painting of rural England he’d seen in the National Gallery in Washington when his parents took him as a kid. He remembered the cows, the river and tall oaks around lush green pastures. Even then, he knew he wanted to see this place. It must have been a Turner, a Constable, a Gainsborough—he wasn’t up on that stuff.

  After a twenty minute walk, they arrived at a terrace of four three-storey houses surrounded by giant oaks. Each dwelling had a Welsh slate roof, secure behind high walls of matching blackened stone. Radiantly happy, Charlotte opened the wooden gate and pointed to the window on the ground floor overlooking the front garden.

  “That’s where I was born, Lou,” she said. “Right there in that front room!”

  “Wow!”

  Charlotte pointed to ropes hanging from the bow of one of the oaks. “And here’s my swing!” she said, settling into its seat and swaying back and forth. The door burst open and Charlotte’s excited parents rushed out with open arms and welcoming smiles. The resemblance between Charlotte and her mother was striking: same height, bone structure, hair color, though her mother’s was a little faded.

  A good-looking lady.