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

by David Dennington

Father was tall, with graying hair and strong features.

  And this man works in the mines.

  Lou shook his large, rough hand. Both were finely dressed, as though going to church—Charlotte’s mother in a blue, flowered dress, father in a neatly ironed white shirt, plain blue tie, tan jacket.

  “Charlotte, you look so well, my darling. This must be Lou. Oh, he is handsome—just like you said,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “We saw the pictures in the paper, your poor face covered in bandages and Charlotte standing beside you. We were so proud!”

  “Welcome to Ackworth, Lou,” Mr. Hamilton said. “I’m pleased to meet you, son.”

  Charlotte grabbed Lou’s arm, anxious to show him the house and make sure nothing had changed. They entered a small vestibule and stepped into the spacious living room with beige carpeting, a flowery couch and comfortable matching armchairs. As soon as they went in, Lou smelled the glowing coal fire in the grate. Charlotte noticed his glance.

  “When we’re home, we keep the fire going every day, winter or summer,” she said.

  Lou’s eyes swept the room. The heavy drapes at the Georgian windows also had a floral pattern, similar to the couches and wallpaper. An upright piano stood at one end, polished brass candlesticks on its front panel, several framed family photos on its top. One of Charlotte as a child caught Lou’s eye. She knelt on a beach, her arms around a small, white dog. He picked up the frame for a closer look.

  “That was Charlotte at the seaside at Scarborough with Snowy. She’s seven in that photo,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “Oh, how she loved that little dog!”

  “I want another dog just like him, one day,” Charlotte said.

  Lou carefully replaced the picture frame. “A dog … what about one of these?” Lou said, running his hand along the top of the piano. “This is real nice.”

  “Charlotte plays. She’s very good. She had lessons at the Quaker School since she was little. Perhaps you’ll play for Lou,” Charlotte’s mother said.

  “Oh Mum, I haven’t played in ages. Don’t embarrass me.”

  “I hope you’ll knock out a tune for me, honey. I love the old Joanna,” Lou said.

  Charlotte opened the lid and ran her fingers over the keys, picking out “My Mammy.”

  “It’s out of tune Mother,” Charlotte said.

  Lou grimaced, remembering little Jerry Donegan in blackface aboard R38.

  Any song but that one!

  The white mantel over the fireplace surround was loaded with knick-knacks and more photos. The armchairs were arranged on each side of the hearth, one obviously ‘father’s chair.’ Lou made a mental note. Beside it, between the fire-breast and the wall, was a half-height built-in cabinet with a mahogany wireless on top.

  I guess this is where Father sits and smokes, listening to the BBC evening news and then a play before bed.

  “Sit down and make yourselves comfortable,” Mrs. Hamilton said, rushing off to the kitchen. She returned within minutes with tea and sandwiches and set them down on the coffee table. Starving, Lou and Charlotte tucked in. There was a knock at the back door accompanied by, “Oowoooh, oowooh, it’s only me, love.”

  This was a sort of a British bird call now familiar to Lou, meaning: ‘Is anybody home?’ Of course, one always knew exactly who ‘me’ was. Lou grinned.

  “It’s Madge from next door,” Mrs. Hamilton explained. “They’ll all be by, you’ll see.”

  Lou soon realized entering by the front door was pretty unusual. A procession of neighbors, relatives and friends came to the back door on one pretext or another; the main reason to inspect Charlotte’s young man. Each one entered smiling shyly, ready to be introduced. They took to him on sight. They’d read the newspaper articles about the American hero who’d saved some of his fellow airshipmen and been injured and then taken to Hull Infirmary to be nursed back to health by ‘our very own Charlotte.’ A fairy tale!

  “Oooooh! ‘ees loovly, ’int ’ee?” (Which Lou figured meant, “Oh! He’s lovely, isn’t he?”) they said, one after another on entering the living room, where Charlotte sat proudly beside Lou on the couch. Lou drank endless cups of tea, something he’d never done before, but found palatable enough—a British ritual. He could live with that.

  Mr. Hamilton didn’t say much. He listened and smiled. Charlotte had talked a lot about him during their evenings together. “He is the gentlest of men,” Charlotte told him and Lou could quite believe it. Lou remained the center of attention for the afternoon, by which time the room had filled with people: Mrs. Scargill, Auntie Betty, who had a face full of kindness, Auntie Jean and her five kids, Auntie Mary from the Brown Cow (a pub, they explained), Auntie Rose from the fish shop ont’ corner, Auntie Ethel from the dairy and Mrs. Hendry from the farm across the road, and many more.

  Soon, after their shift at Ackworth Colliery, a troop of miners filed in. Lou wasn’t sure if they’d give him the same reception, but they did. Lou had one problem, however; when they talked fast, he couldn’t understand a word. So, he sat nodding, feeling like a parrot.

  They’re not speaking French, but they might just as well be.

  After most visitors had left, one of Charlotte’s girlfriends, Angela, came in and the two girls hugged. She shook hands with Lou, but seemed unable to look him in the eye.

  “A crowd of us are meeting at the Mason’s Arms tomorrow night. Why don’t you come?” Angela said. “The old gang will be there.”

  Charlotte turned to Lou.

  “Sure thing, as long as your parents are going,” he said.

  More villagers to meet!

  Exhausted by conversation and sated by a beautiful roast dinner, Lou fell asleep in the attic room as soon as his head hit the crisp, white pillow case.

  The next day was cloudy and cool. Charlotte and Lou spent the day walking across the fields to the viaduct and down to the river. It was a magical place, reminding Lou again of his favorite childhood painting.

  The Mason’s Arms was a chilly mile’s walk just off the main Ackworth road. With its low, beamed ceilings and wood floors, the pub was welcoming and cozy. The publican greeted them from behind the bar as they entered. Lou was led around by Charlotte and introduced to everyone, including her cousin Geoff, who hadn’t shown up at the house the day before. He was a handsome young man, about twenty-four, with a pleasant smile and beautiful teeth. Lou received the same friendly reception as at the house and wasn’t allowed to buy any drinks. The publican grinned when he tried to pay. “Yer money’s no good ’ere, son,” he said.

  Many pints were drunk by the men while the women sipped gin, or some fizzy, champagne-like drink. Just before closing time, a disturbance erupted in the adjacent private bar, with much shouting and swearing. A man in his mid-twenties appeared at the doorway to a collective moan of disgust from the public bar. He was Lou’s height and build with lank, greasy hair hanging down one side of his pockmarked face. Murderous brown eyes blazed and thick lips drawn back in a sneer, revealed large, uneven, wolf-like teeth.

  “Oh no, it’s Jessup,” someone said.

  The drunk tried to focus on the man who’d dared to speak. “You shut your bloody mouth, Alfred Braithwaite, or I’ll shut it for yer!”

  Lou stared at the fool, unimpressed.

  “So where’s our American hero?” the man snarled, staggering into the center of the room. The drinkers scattered, leaving Lou alone with Jessup. Charlotte stood horrified, off to one side with her mother and Angela. “What’s he doing here?” she asked. And then to Angela, “Did you know your brother was coming?”

  “No, er …” Angela stuttered.

  “She knew alright! She told me you’d be ’ere, my lovely,” Jessup shouted over his shoulder. “So this is your pretty boy Yank? Oh I’m so in love,” he said, in falsetto and puckering his lips to Lou. “Ah, give me a kiss, pretty boy.”

  Lou didn’t move, his face blank, eyes alert. Charlotte’s father stood mortified while the publican seemed to have his feet nailed to the floor.

  �
��Now look ’ere, fella, why don’t you go on back in yer balloon to bumsnot New York or whatever rat-infested dump you crawled out of and stay there! This girl’s mine. I ’ad her first—yes, that’s what I said—I ’ad her first—and she’ll always be mine! Got that, Yankee Doodle Dandy?”

  In a matter of moments, Lou had become a stranger alone in a foreign land. He didn’t lose eye contact with Jessup, enraging the drunk even more. He ran at Lou and punched him in the face twice, knocking him to the boards. Lou didn’t raise a hand to defend himself. Jessup swung round and leaned over the bar-top to seize a brown beer bottle. He smashed it on the edge of the bar and turned back to Lou with the jagged weapon.

  Before Jessup managed to reach Lou, cousin Geoff grabbed a long shard of broken glass from the floor and with a sweep of his hand, slashed the left side of Jessup’s face, piercing the flesh through to his mouth and ripping his tongue. Jessup screamed and fell down, blood gushing from his cheek and babbling mouth. Belatedly, the publican leapt over the bar. He grabbed Jessup’s feet and dragged him across the floor into the other bar, like a bleeding dead horse, leaving a thick trail of blood. Angela rushed in to her brother. Charlotte sank down to her knees over Lou and took his hand.

  “Oh Lou, my poor love, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Who the hell was that knucklehead?” he said, sitting up.

  Charlotte was at a loss. Mr. Hamilton leaned over Lou.

  “Come on, Lou, let’s get you home, son,” he said, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. Everyone in the bar was shocked and sorry this had happened to a visitor to their village. Each of them came offering apologies.

  Lou, Charlotte and her parents trudged home in silence. Once there, Mrs. Hamilton went to the kitchen with her husband, leaving Lou and Charlotte alone in the living room.

  “Charlotte, tell me, what the hell was that all about?”

  “Lou, I swear to you, he means nothing to me. I went out with him for a couple of weeks, that’s all. That was two years ago.”

  “Sounds like the boy’s pretty stuck on you.”

  “He seemed nice at first, but then he started to get fresh. And when he was drunk he got mean, like a rabid dog. He wouldn’t leave me alone. He’s tracked me ever since. I had to get out of the village. That’s why I’m working in Hull. He’s made my life hell.”

  “He seems to think he’s got a claim on you.”

  “What he said is a filthy lie! And if you don’t believe me, you can get out of this house right now!” Charlotte stormed as her father entered the room.

  “Please don’t argue. You’ve been so happy together and you’ve made us happy. Don’t end a beautiful day like this. Go to bed and sleep on it and talk in the morning. Lou, Charlotte is a good girl. That boy’s a real problem in this village. He’s always been a bully, just like his father before him—he used to terrorize this whole area—and he died in the hangman’s noose; killed the boy’s mother. I’ve no doubt this one’ll die a violent death, too.”

  “I’ll say goodnight. Thank you for your hospitality,” Lou said, making for the door.

  Later, in the attic bedroom, Lou took his bag from the closet and was busy unzipping it as Charlotte entered.

  “W-What … are you doing, Remy?” she stammered.

  “It’s best I go. Perhaps we need time to think about all this.”

  “Lou, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please don’t go. I’d die if you left me. I love you so much.”

  He dropped the bag in the corner of the room.

  “All right, we’ll talk tomorrow. Leave now.”

  Charlotte went out, closing the door silently behind her.

  7

  ST. CUTHBERT’S

  October 1921 – April 1924.

  Lou lay on the bed without undressing, staring at the stars through the skylight for most of the night. He fell asleep as the sun was painting the leaves gold and the birds were bursting into song. The room took on an orange glow as the chickens on the farm next door started kicking up a fuss. But Lou was dead to the world.

  He went down to the kitchen about ten thirty. Agitated and embarrassed, Charlotte’s mother leaned over the coal-fired stove, cooking breakfast for her husband. “Lou, I don’t know what to say …” she began.

  “Mrs. Hamilton, please don’t feel bad. Nothing that happened last night was your fault. The man is obviously deranged,” Lou said, sitting down at the table.

  “Evil is what ‘ee is,” Mr. Hamilton said.

  “Against our wishes, he took Charlotte out a few times. We were horrified. She had no idea what a bad lot he was, but it didn’t take long,” Mrs. Hamilton explained. When Charlotte entered the room, Lou could tell she hadn’t slept well either. He stood and she came to him and kissed his cheek. They sat down at the kitchen table and ate bacon and eggs—except Charlotte who had no appetite. Later, Lou and Charlotte sat in the living room.

  “Lou, I’m so sorry for what happened,” she said.

  “You should’ve warned me—why did you keep it from me?”

  “Lou, I had no idea this would happen. I know he keeps tabs on me.

  him—let alone speak to him.”

  “I wish you’d told me, that’s all.”

  “Lou, why didn’t you defend yourself?”

  “A couple of blows to the head are the least of my problems. I guess I need to keep an eye over my shoulder from now on,” he said with an edge of sarcasm.

  “I don’t know why you didn’t stand up to him, Lou. It was like you were scared. That madman could have gouged your eye out.”

  Lou’s eyes narrowed. “He’s got more to fear from me, I assure you.”

  Charlotte was puzzled and skeptical. “Lou, at times I don’t understand you.”

  “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”

  “It was that Angela’s fault—she obviously told her brother we’d be there. He never goes in that pub.”

  “Why d’you hang around with her? There was something I didn’t like about her. She's got lyin' eyes.”

  “She seemed like a decent girl and wanted to be friends and I felt sorry for her—you know, because of her father.”

  “Sounds like she comes from a bad lot.”

  “You do believe what I said last night, don’t you, love?” Charlotte asked.

  “Of course I do. I have no doubts, Charlotte.”

  “Oh, Remy.” Charlotte kissed him. He took a handful of her hair and ran it through his fingers—something he loved to do when they embraced.

  “Will you please excuse me, honey? I need to speak to your dad,” Lou said. Charlotte frowned. He left the room and went to the kitchen where Mr. Hamilton sat alone, listening to the wireless drinking tea. Lou stopped respectfully and listened whzile the BBC news continued.

  ‘It was announced today in the House of Commons that a proposal has been put forward to the Conservative Government by Mr. Dennistoun Burney, member of Parliament for Uxbridge and managing director of Vickers Aircraft Corporation’s Airship Division, for the company to build six airships to be owned and operated by the government.…’

  Mr. Hamilton turned off the radio. “They want to build more of them airships …”

  “Sir, I wonder if I could talk to you for a moment,” Lou said.

  “What is it, lad?” Mr. Hamilton’s face fell. He obviously thought Lou wanted to talk about Jessup. “Let’s go in the other room,” he said, getting up. Charlotte had gone upstairs. It felt more formal in the living room.

  “Mr. Hamilton, I know this is rather sudden, but I’d like permission to marry your daughter,” Lou said. Mr. Hamilton’s face lit up.

  “We’d be honored to have you in the family. We’ve not seen our Charlotte looking so happy for such a long, long time.” They shook hands and Mr. Hamilton reached up and took hold of Lou’s shoulders. “You’re a right good lad. She couldn’t do better—and nor could you. I know I’m her dad, but it’s true.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll take good care of her, I prom
ise.”

  “I know you will, son. This calls for a celebration drink,” Mr. Hamilton said, making for the door to fetch some glasses. He opened the door to find Charlotte, her mother and Auntie Betty, trying to listen. Everyone laughed.

  “Come in, all of you,” Mr. Hamilton said. “It’s time for a toast.”

  There was another sound at the back door it was Auntie Jean and Auntie Mary. The faces of the women were filled with excitement. Mrs. Hamilton loaded a tray in the kitchen with gin, whisky, brown ale and tonic water, and marched in with the new arrivals.

  “We’ve an announcement. Lou has asked permission to marry our Charlotte,” Mr. Hamilton said.

  “And what did you say, Harry?” the ladies all said at once, surging forward. Charlotte looked at her dad.

  “I said we’d be delighted to have him as our son-in-law.”

  A cheer went up and some clapped. Lou stepped into the center of the room. He delved into his pocket and pulled out a small black box.

  “Charlotte, I hope you like this,” he said, opening and offering it.

  Charlotte carefully removed the diamond ring from its red velvet cushion, her hand shaking a little. She held it out to him to slip on her finger. Every one cheered again, as he did so.

  “It fits!” they said.

  Charlotte held up her hand to show the small diamond for all to see, clearly ecstatic. Jessup’s name wasn’t mentioned again. The rest of the visit was joyful and Charlotte even played the piano for Lou. She was a bit rusty, but he was impressed. Maybe one day they’d have a dog and a piano.

  Lou and Charlotte made a second visit to Ackworth over Christmas. On Christmas Eve they attended midnight mass with the family at St. Cuthbert’s, located not far from the Hamilton home. The twelfth century Gothic church was covered in ivy and surrounded by gravestones, bearing the names of villagers from centuries past. After the service, they walked home as a powdery snow began to fall, turning the village and surrounding countryside into a silent wonderland.

  On Christmas Day, the usual procession of neighbors, family and friends came by, each bearing a small Christmas gift—a cake or dish they’d made, a small bottle of brandy or whisky. Traditionally, this was a lazy day, with lots of eating. Lou left about eight thirty that evening to stay at Auntie Betty’s home on the Wakefield road, where he’d been billeted this time.