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

by David Dennington

  Scott was in Hull again two weeks later and he and Lou visited the Howden shed to make an inspection. Scott was interested to view the condition of the property since money would need to be allotted for renovations and additional equipment to turn the place back into a habitable working facility.

  While the skylarks sang in surrounding fields, they drove around the thousand acres of low-lying ground, stopping at various dilapidated buildings. Their movements were watched by a herd of grazing cows, and scattered sheep bleating in the distance.

  “The first thing you’ll need to do is to reclaim this place from all these bloody animals!” Scott declared.

  In the main shed, Lou showed Scott a vixen’s den under the concrete slab in the hydrogen pipe ducts where she lived with her cubs. The shed floor was covered with chicken’s feathers. They had a good laugh about that before driving off to The Railway Station pub in Howden where they ordered ham sandwiches and pints of Tetley’s Best Bitter. Amused, Lou watched the barman pull up their beers with the bar pump handle. It frothed and overflowed, running down the glasses and over the bar.

  I reckon these people would take a bath in this stuff if they could.

  “I think you’re going to do well here, Lou,” Scott said, after taking a long swallow, half emptying his glass. He licked his lips. “Ah, that’s much better.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, sir.”

  “You’ll become a ship’s officer in no time if you study hard.”

  They tucked into their sandwiches and Scott ordered more beers. Lou hadn’t finished his first. “No, no more for me, sir.”

  “Come on, man, have another. It’ll put hair on your chest,” Scott said, and to the barman, “Give him another.” Scott drained his first pint and went on. “You’ll need to come down to Cardington next month to discuss your duties here and your relationship with Vickers.”

  “Okay, sir. When?”

  “I’ll let you know. Lord Thomson, the new Secretary of State, will be holding a press conference and making a public announcement about the program. They’ll be broadcasting his speech on the wireless.”

  “You don’t say!”

  “I want you to attend. I’ll introduce you to him.”

  “Great,” Lou said with both awe and apprehension.

  “I’ll check and give you the exact date. You’d better arrange to get the telephones reconnected at the shed and get one installed at your cottage. We’ll need to be in touch constantly. Oh, there’s someone I must warn you about.”

  Lou was intrigued.

  “Fella by the name of Dennistoun Burney. He’s the man who heads up Vickers airship division. He’s a royal pain in the arse. So, when you meet him, be polite, but don’t take orders from him. Just say, you’ll discuss the matter with your superiors.”

  “Right. Thanks for the warning, sir,” Lou said.

  “The others are okay. Barnes Wallis is a good man. Norway I’ve never met. He’s with deHaviland Aircraft, but I understand he’ll be joining their team as chief calculator this year. I don’t think he knows anything about airships.”

  “I look forward to meeting everyone,” Lou said.

  Scott sank his second pint, while Lou struggled with his.

  “Well, I must be going,” Scott said, jumping up. “Come on, I’ll drop you off.”

  10

  BACK IN BEDFORD

  May 1924.

  During the first week of May, Lou traveled to Bedford. He was familiar with the area from his days working on R38 in 1920 and ’21. Lou felt the optimism in the air as soon as he got off the train. He sensed it on the familiar, old, green bus on the way to the Cardington gate. Though it was good to be back, he felt pangs of grief and as well as nostalgia. Passengers noticed his uniform and his American insignias. They smiled sympathetically.

  The bus conductor remembered him. “Hello, sir. Lovely to have you back,” he said. Lou forced a grin and looked out the window. They were passing Rowe’s Tobacconist Shop, also known as the ‘corner store,’ where his buddies used to buy cigarettes and newspapers.

  “We were all so choked up about what happened to you and your shipmates,” the conductor said. Lou said nothing. He watched the people hurrying along the high street. The sun blazed and new leaves shone fresh and green. There was no evidence of his compatriots ever living or working here. Life had moved on. He looked out and saw a good-looking girl. Oh, those girls! They used to go mad for him and his buddies. It used to make the Bedford boys so angry. The haunting lyrics of Irving Berlin’s “What’ll I Do?” came into his mind. Charlotte had been playing that damned song all week. Desolation washed over him.

  “I’ve been following you in the papers, sir. You didn’t go home with the others, then?” the bus conductor said.

  “This is home,” Lou answered.

  He thought about Charlotte and realized how much better he’d been since he got married. Lou held out a shilling for his fare. The conductor refused his money and winked. “Welcome home, son,” he said, walking to the other end of the bus. Lou looked out the window again. His thoughts were disturbed by a plaintive voice behind him.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  Lou turned around to find a young man about twenty-six, skinny and angular with a fine nose and earnest, small, blue eyes. He removed his cap and held it in his hands, prayer-like.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing you’re going up to Cardington, sir.”

  “Yes, why?” Lou noticed his right eye and cheek. He had a nervous twitch.

  “I’m interested to find work, sir, and wondered if you might be able to help me in that regard.”

  “I’m not sure I can. This is my first day here, and I’m really only a visitor. What d'you do?” Lou asked.

  “I’d like to work on the construction and I’m very good with engines. I’m a very ’ard worker, sir, ’an I’m very, very faithful.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Joseph H. Binks, sir, but everybody calls me Joe.”

  Lou took out a small notepad and wrote down his name. “I’ll see what I can do. Can’t promise anything. Here, write down your address.”

  “I understand, sir. Work’s scarce, you know, and I’ve got two young’uns at ’ome. Since I came out the Navy fings ’av been very ‘ard,” Binks said.

  The bus came up to the gate and Lou got off with Binks behind him.

  “Well, thank you, sir,” Binks said, thrusting out his hand and bowing at the same time. “Lovely to have met you, sir.”

  “And you, too, Mr. Binks,” Lou said, shaking his hand.

  “God bless you, sir,” Binks called after him, still holding his cap and bowing. Lou looked back, smiling. Binks trudged off and joined a long queue of men who, Lou presumed, were waiting for day work. As he walked toward the gate, he spotted Walter Potter standing by the gatehouse. Lou grinned, happy to see his old shipmate.

  “Walter!”

  “Sir! They said you was coming down. I couldn’t wait to see you,” Potter said, grasping Lou’s hand. “I thought I’d wait and say hello.”

  “That’s nice of you, Walter. How’ve you been? Are you working?”

  “No. There’s not much to do around here yet.” Potter gestured to the line of men looking for work.

  “Haven’t you had enough of airships for one lifetime, Walter?”

  Potter threw his head back and snorted. “Yeah, I have, but it’s all I know. It’s work. And a job is what I desperately need right now. Can you help me, sir?”

  “You know I will, if I can. You live close by?”

  Potter indicated with a sideways nod. “Shortstown. Just up the road.”

  Lou got out his pad again. “Write down your address. I’ll see what I can do. I’m sure they’ll find you something,” Lou said. They chatted for a few minutes. Lou checked his watch. “I’d better go. They’re waiting for me up there.”

  “Okay, sir, I hope we’ll meet again soon.”

  “I’ll be down every month. We’ll have a pin
t. I’ll see what I can do for you, don’t worry.” Lou gave him an assuring wink as they parted.

  The guardhouse had been painted and the flower beds at the gate freshly planted with daffodils, making the place look spic-and-span. The gatekeeper greeted him warmly.

  “Lieutenant Remington! How are you, sir? They told me to expect you,” he said. “I’ll get you a lift. Wait a mo.’” He held his hand up to a car coming through the gate. “Hey, Harry can you drop off our old friend the Lieutenant at the Admin?”

  “Sure,” the driver said, peering at Lou with a spark of recognition.

  Lou climbed in and they traveled up the driveway lined with flowering cherry trees. “I remember you, sir. My name’s Harry, Harry Leech. I’m one of the engineering foremen.”

  “Your face is familiar. You’re the engine wizard,” Lou said. “Looks like this place is coming back to life.”

  “You bet! This bloke Thomson might be our savior,” Leech said.

  “Never can tell.”

  The enormous sheds dominated the skyline and the surrounding area with all their ancillary buildings—housing machine shops, a gasbag factory, a hydrogen plant, electricity generators and warehouses. The area bustled with activity. Contractors’ vehicles passed by—builders, painters, plumbers, electricians and landscapers, while others delivered scaffolding, planks, lumber, and assorted building materials.

  In the distance, at the sheds, men stood on ladders fixing lighting while others painted the areas around the entrance doors. The weeds and brush, which had taken over, were being cleared and loaded onto a lorry.

  “Good to see the ol’ place resurrected,” Leech said. “I’ll be glad to get back to work.” Lou nodded, realizing the enormity of his own task at Howden—that property being older and far more run down. He also had twenty derelict homes to renovate on the base for use by staff and their families. Cardington was years ahead in getting their facilities back in commission. Vickers’ Howden team would be at a disadvantage from day one.

  They traveled up the gravel road to Cardington House, an imposing stately home, previously owned by a wealthy industrialist and philanthropist. He’d made the property a gift to the government for the sake of airship research and development. The classical stucco great-house, set in magnificent gardens, now served as the headquarters for the Royal Airship Works (the R.A.W.). The building stood in a sea of daffodils with a backdrop of flowering tulip trees, magnolia trees, azaleas and rhododendrons. The place was a bird sanctuary with magpies, swallows, robins, pigeons and sparrows flying busily from tree to tree. Fragrances from this colorful paradise were overpowering. Lou paused to take it all in, not noticing the three black crows cawing and blinking slyly at him from their low branch.

  Scott met Lou in the entrance hall of Cardington House and took him to meet Wing Cmdr. Colmore, Deputy Director of Airship Development in his ground floor office which looked out across the airfield. Lou had only been in the building a few times in the past, usually to deliver a communication or memo from the U.S. Navy to the R.A.W. brass.

  Colmore, a charming man of forty-five, had graying hair, very short at the back and sides. He put Lou at ease immediately and confirmed Lou would begin restoration work at Howden as soon as possible, so Vickers could get started. The money had been budgeted and was available immediately. After the air station was up and running, Lou would continue to be based at Howden, assisting Vickers with the airship’s construction and keeping records of progress as one of the general overseers—‘not as a watchdog, but as a pair of eyes for the R.A.W. and there to assist Vickers in any way necessary.’ He would not betray confidences from either side.

  This relieved Lou. He didn’t want the Vickers staff to think of him as a spy in the camp. Lou would visit Cardington once a month to report on progress and relay anything Vickers needed. Lou got a further boost when Colmore told him he’d be his ‘special assistant’—a liaison officer. He winked at Lou and told him there’d be an increase in his salary paid by the Air Ministry. To Lou’s amusement, Colmore reiterated the warning about Dennistoun Burney, who Colmore said was a bit of a ‘bloody nuisance.’

  After lunch in the dining room with Colmore and Scott, the building came alive. The heavy, white paneled office doors opened and closed constantly and people dashed in and out of the marble reception hall where Thomson’s press conference was scheduled to take place. Broadcasting equipment and microphones were being set up and tested. Thomson would be on the air in two hours.

  Suddenly, there was a great fuss at the entrance—Thomson’s limousine had arrived. Lou went out with Scott and Colmore and other R.A.W. staff to greet him. Thomson got out and climbed the steps, his military bearing evident, though he appeared pale and gaunt. He came across initially as a forceful, energetic man. Word had traveled fast—the new Minister of State from Whitehall was on base. Everyone was anxious to catch a glimpse.

  Inside the majestic reception hall, Thomson peered around at the seating, nodding with pleasure at the preparations. He was led to the conference room by Colmore and Scott, and the door closed behind them. Lou went and sat in the reception hall. Thirty minutes later, Lou was sent for and taken to the conference room to meet ‘the man’. He entered in time to see the chief steward receiving generous praise for the ‘delicious cucumber sandwiches’ he’d served Thomson with his tea.

  Thomson, long-necked and vulture-like, stood with his slender hand extended. His sagging, weary eyes and hollow cheeks made his nose prominent and beak-like. His shoulders were stooped and his threadbare, black coat ill-fitting and loose around the collar. Lou assessed him as a man who’d seen rough times. Though Thomson was courteous, Lou couldn’t help feeling intimidated, but at the same time sympathetic. At times like this, he remembered what his grandmother once told him: ‘Remember, son, inside every man there’s a small boy’. Her words floated down from the ether at this moment.

  “Lieutenant Remington! I’m pleased to meet you,” Thomson said, shaking Lou’s hand, the grip of his long, delicate fingers firm, but not overly so.

  “Likewise, sir.”

  “I’ve had conversations about you with your people in Washington. Are you happy with the set up?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m very pleased.”

  “We’re honored to have you with us. You’re highly thought of, both here and at home. I think this arrangement will be beneficial to both countries,” Thomson said

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Thomson seemed about to end the conversation, but had an afterthought.

  “You were at the Front?”

  “Yes, sir—Belleau Wood and Saint-Mihiel.”

  “And thank God you were, Lieutenant. I was at Ypres. I read your war record. You were buried alive with twenty-five other men, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Awful business. Any ill effects?”

  “No, sir. I’m fine,” Lou lied.

  “What about the others?”

  “All dead, sir.”

  Thomson nodded sadly. “Well, welcome aboard. We’ll be changing the world together. These new airships will be the next big thing,” Thomson said, looking from Lou to Colmore and Scott.

  After more small talk, Lou left the conference room to find the reception hall filling up. Those gathering appeared to be the well-to-do from the local area: businessmen, bankers, solicitors, doctors, accountants—mostly professionals. Others included Whitehall civil servants, members of Parliament and military personnel in uniform. Two dozen reporters and about twenty photographers were also present. Lou took a seat off to one side. Some reporters recognized him. A nerdy-looking young man in a Harris Tweed jacket, sitting nearby, also seemed to be taking quite an interest in him.

  11

  THE DIE IS CAST

  May 1924.

  At ten minutes to three, Thomson marched in and mounted the low podium where he was joined by Colmore, Scott and another R.A.W. man Lou hadn’t seen before. Thomson took a sip from a glass of water. After testing the
microphones, a BBC technician wearing headphones told Thomson he’d be on in four minutes. As the time came up, the man held up his fingers, counting down seconds. Thomson cleared his throat and began in his gravelly, baritone voice.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen and listeners. It gives me great pleasure to speak to you from the Royal Airship Works at Cardington, in Bedfordshire—home of the British airship industry for more than ten years.”

  The two hundred people in the audience listened with rapt attention. “It is with pride that I announce, today, the beginning of the New British Imperial Airship Program and I’m here to describe my vision of a future fleet of luxurious airships that will compete globally with ocean liners.”

  Thomson smiled benevolently into the flashing cameras while reporters scribbled. “The proposal I put to the Cabinet was approved by the Prime Minister, who put it to the House of Commons where it was overwhelmingly approved. I presented this proposal to the House of Lords, explaining how this program will be the most ambitious airship building program ever undertaken. Once again, the program received enthusiastic support.”

  Thomson paused to make sure he had everyone’s attention.

  “After careful deliberation, I’ve decided the government will underwrite the construction of two airships at a cost of one million, four hundred thousand pounds. Each will have the capacity of five million cubic feet of hydrogen, giving a lifting capacity of one hundred and fifty tons.” Thomson paused again for reporters to write the numbers down.