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

by David Dennington

  “Where did you find him?”

  “Sefton Brancker recommended him.”

  “Good old Sefton.”

  “He’ll put us down in the field near the house. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at nine.”

  “Right.”

  “After a spell at Lossie, I suggest you go and see your lady-love in Romania.”

  “Perhaps I shall.”

  “Main thing is—don’t give up. We’ll be back. Count on it!”

  “I am,” Thomson said.

  “Write a book or something whilst we bide our time.”

  “I’ve been planning to do that. I’ve already chosen the title.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “Smaranda,” Thomson said.

  “Sounds like a fascinating story about a Romanian Princess.”

  While Thomson and MacDonald were clearing out their possessions from Chequers, a small ceremony was taking place at Howden Air Station celebrating the formation of Vickers’s Airship Guarantee Company to handle design and construction of Howden R100. The contract had just been ratified. A little ‘sign planting’ party was arranged to commemorate the occasion.

  Those gathered in the drizzle at the entrance under umbrellas included, Wing Cmdr. Colmore, Maj. Scott, Dennistoun Burney, Barnes Wallis, newcomer Nevil Shute Norway and Lt. Lou Remington. George Hunter, the Daily Express reporter and angry journalist at the Cardington press conference, had traveled up from London. The local Hull newspaper sent a reporter and a photographer. Norway, Lou remembered as being the guy in the Harris Tweed jacket who’d taken such an interest in him. When they were introduced, neither acknowledged prior contact.

  Two holes had been dug for the posts on one side of the driveway at a location chosen by Lou. While the group waited for the truck to arrive with the sign, Burney fussed around and decided the location was all wrong. Two new holes were dug and another thirty minutes of standing in the rain was endured until the sign was duly erected. It read:

  Airship Guarantee Company

  A Subsidiary of Vickers Aircraft Corp.

  A meager round of applause went up from the party of bored souls. Lou opened a couple of bottles of champagne and poured it into fancy glasses on a small, wet table. Hurried toasts were drunk and a few words said. No one wanted to be there, but it was a ceremony which seemed necessary at the time. It contrasted strongly in Lou’s mind with the kick-off meeting conducted by Thomson at Cardington in May, and he said as much to Wallis and Norway.

  Wallis smiled. “Let them have their pomp and circumstance. We have no need of it here,” he said.

  PART FOUR

  HOWDEN

  13

  A SLEEPLESS NIGHT

  April 1929.

  Lou stared at the ceiling, listening to the clock’s ‘tick, tick, tick’, beside him, while the wind whistled through the tall elms outside. He rolled over and checked the time. It was 2.30 a.m. He could tell by her restlessness Charlotte was awake, too. Neither spoke. This’d be their last night at the cottage. Lou had been posted to Cardington and they’d travel to Bedford on the train in the morning. A deal had been struck with the devil and payment was due. Was he being unfair to Charlotte? He felt selfish to the core, but confident they were doing the right thing. He thought of his dead R38 buddies. It always came back to that, as if he were tied to them for eternity.

  The price of being a survivor.

  This was his second chance, a way of redeeming himself. Or was he being overly dramatic? Then there was John Bull. He felt miserable about leaving him—and disloyal. Everything went around in his head. He lay in the gloom considering the events of the past three years…

  14

  THE WALLISES

  Summer 1926 - Spring 1929.

  By summer of 1926, the air station had been restored to a functioning facility—not as modern as Cardington, but good enough for the Howden people, who were always at a disadvantage; like relatives from the wrong side of the tracks. Renovations of the twenty bungalows were complete and freshly painted. Design staff and senior personnel, including Barnes Wallis, his new bride, Molly, and their three-month-old son moved in. Burney and his wife took one, though were absent most of the time. Burney was busy much of the time with his duties as a Conservative Member of Parliament. He also traveled abroad extensively.

  The offices were also ready and Lou furnished them with second-hand furniture from Hull, much of it the worse for wear, but ‘perfectly adequate’, as Wallis put it. A week after everyone had settled in, Wallis called a meeting with his staff. Lou was first to arrive and Wallis expressed satisfaction with his office, which smelled of new, white distemper and an almost-new piece of brown carpet.

  Ten team members sat at the old, chipped conference table and the remaining seventeen squeezed in around the walls. The group was mixed, with male and female staff from the drawing offices and workshops, including shop foremen, engineers, engineering draftsmen, Norway’s calculators, and lastly, Philip Teed, the chemist, and his assistants, who looked after gas management and purity. Wallis stood at the head of the table dressed in a dark blue suit. He smiled at the enthusiastic faces—rare for him.

  “I called this meeting to welcome you to Howden and to let you know what I expect—to lay down ground rules and give you my opinions about certain matters. I’m calling this a ‘meeting of mutual understanding.’

  Wallis raised his hand toward Lou.

  “First, I know by now you’ve all met this man, but I want to introduce you officially to Lt. Louis Remington of the United States Navy. I’d personally like to thank the lieutenant for his work in getting this old, broken-down aerodrome into working order. He’s done a great job. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  There was a spontaneous round of applause.

  “He has considerable experience in airship construction and in flying them—you all know his history. He’s familiar with this air station and with Cardington. Please understand I have absolute trust in the lieutenant. He’s a man of the highest integrity. We shall keep no secrets from him and treat him as one of our own. Besides assisting our team, he’s also here on behalf of the Air Ministry and the oversight group in Cardington.”

  There were a few questioning glances in Lou’s direction.

  “Cardington is overseeing this operation. That was the mandate and it’s something we have to live with. Personally, I’d rather have oversight, as long as it is thoughtful and intelligent. Lieutenant Remington will use his discretion as to what information he will pass on to Cardington. Technical data, much of which will become patented, I’m sure he will not divulge until we’re ready to release it. As well as assisting us here in monitoring the work, Lieutenant Remington will make monthly visits to Cardington where he’ll give the Deputy Director of Airship Development a report covering our progress for the month, a schedule for the upcoming month and detailed costs of work to date.”

  Lou was relieved Wallis had got this out of the way. He and Wallis understood one another perfectly.

  “Now, what are we all doing here in the backwoods of Yorkshire? Ladies and gentlemen, this is our mission: We have the task of delivering an airship built to concise specifications, for a stipulated contract sum, by a certain date, ready for an intercontinental voyage. No more. No less.”

  Wallis paused. His eyes swept the room.

  “This airship will be the best we can design and build. We will not pay attention to what others are doing, or saying. What they do is their business. We shall stay focused right here in this shed and not be sidetracked or upset by politicians and news hounds.”

  Everyone nodded their heads in agreement.

  “We must always remember our awesome responsibility. Peoples’ lives are at stake. It’s not just about our survival as a company, not about looking good and trying hard—that won’t be good enough. This is true of all things in life. Just showing you’re trying to do a good job won’t enable you to survive an Atlantic crossing. Nice appointments, nice berths, nice showers, nice tabl
es and nice white table cloths with glistening silverware are things which look good in the shed—but none of that stuff will get us to Montreal. In a matter of only a few years, we’re attempting to build ocean liners in the sky—vessels that took hundreds of years to develop. We mustn’t forget these aircraft are experimental!”

  Wallis stopped and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “I must inform you of my opinions on certain matters—and this is confidential. Only one team will survive this ridiculous competition. I believe that’s always been the intention of the Air Minister. I know he’s gone, but everything in politics is temporary. I’m sure he’ll be back. His intent is to show how much better government can do things. The ultimate goal is our demise. Both teams are essentially supposed to be building the same airship, at least if you read the specification requirements you might think so. For two reasons, they won’t be the same; our two philosophies are different, and they have unlimited money—but that could be their undoing. Although we’re the underdog, we shall win this competition. We came here to win, and win it we shall!”

  There was an enthusiastic round of applause and cheers. The meeting made a big impression on Lou.

  Wallis began holding weekly progress meetings with key members of his team. Attendees included Lou, Norway and Teed. Burney attended rarely. At the first meeting, Lou learned what the team had been doing in the south for the past eighteen months while he’d been managing the re-commissioning of Howden. Wallis had the concept of the airship developing in his head during the summer of ’24 and by Christmas, had the engineering details worked out down to the smallest details.

  Wallis decided to get away from the Zeppelin design, which he considered fatally flawed, and began from first principles. Much of what Wallis said went over Lou’s head. He spoke of longitudinal shear, bending moments, aerodynamic forces, point loads, geodetic design, changes in buoyancy and lift behavior due to atmospheric changes. Lou did, however, fully understand the meaning of ‘catastrophic failure.’

  Wallis mysteriously seemed to be able to feel every force within the airship while working on design, which he now had down on the drawing boards. He had an uncanny instinct, enabling him to pinpoint forces in girders, transverse frames, guy wires, fabric meshing and gas bag supports, as well as in every rivet, nut and bolt! He sensed these forces as if they were in his own body—forces that would be forever changing due to effects of weather, gravity, aerodynamics and cataclysmic events.

  Lou had no clue what ‘geodetic design’ meant, but after patient explanation by Wallis, he understood that when one part of the structure became overstressed, or broken, its load would be taken up by another part. These principles were also applied to the gas bag harnessing system. Wallis lived and breathed internal structural forces. The man was a genius.

  Wallis seemed to be able to go to that place where great composers or distinguished writers go for inspiration and answers—the wellspring. Many times, Wallis came into the shed early in the morning with a bright smile, announcing he’d dreamed of the answer to some inscrutable riddle he’d been wrestling with for weeks. He’d be as excited as a schoolboy, charging into his office to write it all down and make sketches. When this happened, Lou shared his euphoria.

  Wallis was hard to get to know. His puritanical nature was softened by a willingness to have fun, especially with his wife, Molly, now pregnant with their second child. One day in the autumn of 1926, at sunset, when the shed cast its giant shadow across the field, Lou approached after hearing strange sounds coming from inside. He went to the door and found Wallis zooming Molly around wildly in a workmen’s wheelbarrow, while they both childishly shrieked and howled like wolves. Every so often, they stopped and listened to echoes receding down the shed, counting to fifteen each time, until the vast space descended into silence. Lou watched for a few minutes until they became aware of him. They were embarrassed at first, and then they all burst out laughing.

  Wallis, the outdoor type, taught Molly how to skate and play golf. Often, they went out camping in all kinds of weather with only a side and top to their tent—Wallis’s way of toughening them up; learning to live with and understand the elements.

  In the autumn of that year, the Wallises knocked on the cottage door during a terrible rainstorm. Wallis and Molly liked to go on long hikes visiting neighbors and friends. They’d travel five miles by road and five miles across country ‘as the crow flies’, using a compass to guide them. They came inside like drowned rats, staying until they’d dried out by the fire and had been served (despite their protestations) a meal of sausages, baked beans and coffee.

  During their surprise visit, Lou and Charlotte learned Wallis and Molly were cousins-in-law, having been married the previous year after an agonizing courtship. Their marriage had been strongly opposed by Molly’s father due to their sixteen-year age difference. When they’d met, Wallis had loved her on sight and stayed close by, coaching her in mathematics, usually by mail. Now, all appeared to be well. They’d been left alone to enjoy their lives together in this desolate place in Yorkshire.

  The Wallises, like Lou and Charlotte, seemed blissfully happy, except that they had a baby and another on the way. The only blight on their happiness was the managing director of the company, Dennistoun Burney. Lou and Charlotte learned much from the Wallises about various people and their relationships that rainy afternoon.

  Burney owned everybody who worked for him and they were not allowed to forget it. Any successful task they performed became his doing. During his visits to Howden, Burney made everyone’s life miserable by his sheer arrogance. The greater the distance from Westminster out of the public eye, the more obnoxious he became.

  At the end of the day or at weekends when in residence, Burney liked to call on the Wallises to discuss work without regard to convenience. His wife, just as annoying, showed up on Molly’s doorstep at all hours to make camp. Wallis couldn’t stand the woman’s powdery smell, and whatever she put on her hair made him sneeze.

  Scott also offended Wallis’s puritanical sensibilities, but at least his visits were infrequent. When he came up by train, Lou fetched him from the station in the works truck and he’d stay overnight at the Railway Station Pub or the Grand Hotel in Hull. Wallis had a high regard for Scott’s flying skills, but abhorred his drinking and hell raising.

  If Scott showed up at the cottage, he usually demanded gin, and when Wallis requested a ‘drink’ allowance from Burney for these unwelcome visits, the request was denied. When Burney and Scott were both in town, the drinking got out of hand, much to Wallis’s annoyance—especially when they drank in his home and he was footing the bill.

  That summer of ’26, Wallis’s factory began producing duralumin tubing. By Christmas, they’d built one of the central transverse frames and hung it from the roof decked in Christmas lights. To complete the festive ambience, a pine tree from the nearby forest was installed in the shed with decorations and a nativity scene.

  That first Christmas had been a happy occasion. Lou and Charlotte went to the Wallises’ bungalow on Christmas morning and Wallis poured them Bristol Cream Sherry. Charlotte took a baby’s white, knitted sleepsuit she’d made for her own longed-for child. When she handed Molly the present wrapped in tissue, Molly embraced Charlotte after seeing tears in her eyes.

  Lou’s role at Howden had changed. With the renovations finished, his task now was to monitor activities and make daily reports. These were typed and filed by a young secretary named Monica. He also kept a deficiency log after reading and filing the inspectors’ reports. These records were kept current and discussed at Wallis’s weekly meetings.

  Howden Airship Station became a happy place, not unlike a British holiday camp, and to Lou, it remained special. The management personnel worked hard and played hard together, forming life-long friendships. Lou and Charlotte spent countless hours socializing with them. People understood their time in Howden to be temporary. They were far from home in pleasant, country surroundings. Most h
ad grown up as city folk and this was an adventure. In this ‘unreal’ atmosphere, inevitably, one or two affairs got started.

  They enjoyed being close to the animals, too. Molly told Charlotte she liked to watch the rabbits hopping around their garden and see cows poking their heads through their windows, except when they chewed her flowers on the windowsill and broke her vases. This community was a separate place, divorced from the outside world. They played soccer and rugby on the airfield, keeping it mowed and rolled. Wallis had a tennis court set up with a low perimeter fence where he and Molly practiced. In summer, they had Sunday tea parties and the wives brought homemade pies, cakes, jellies and blancmanges, while their men played cricket. The ‘shed people’ never attended these get-togethers, not being invited. On rare occasions shop foremen received a special invitation.

  The atmosphere was always pleasant, as long as Burney and his wife weren’t in attendance; they would bust their way into every conversation and lord it over all, talking non-stop shop. Burney had the gift of being able to turn his employees against each other. Lou thought this must be caused by some survival instinct people have when in the company of individuals with power over them. If the Burneys showed up on these Sunday afternoons, most people drifted away early, whereas the games and socializing normally carried on until dark.

  Burney was never impolite or bombastic toward Lou or Charlotte. Perhaps he saw Lou rising in the Naval hierarchy in Washington where he’d become a useful contact for his airship business. During the times Burney was in residence, a nasty cloud hung over the place and the backbiting became unpleasant. On his departure, the sun came out and a state of tranquility descended across the plain, peace restored. Lou heard him referred to as a little prick, a nuisance, a hemorrhoid, a pillock, and an arsehole, though he never made comments about the man himself. But Charlotte did.