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

by David Dennington

  Lou couldn’t tell whether all this was an attempt to demoralize Howden, thinking Lou would divulge these details and they’d be overcome by their brilliance. Or, maybe, Richmond was looking for Lou’s reactions, which were always congenial and reassuring—perhaps even a tad patronizing. Richmond, like most English people, was unable to appreciate the subtle nuances of American polite conversation. It wouldn’t have occurred to him such a thing existed in American culture—after all, Americans could hardly speak the language.

  Richmond asked Lou not to mention these things at Howden and he didn’t. He knew Wallis wouldn’t be the slightest bit interested anyway. Lou felt the petty jealousy and rivalry increasing between the teams, but refused to pick sides or let himself be drawn in. He and Charlotte had their own growing personal problem to contend with—Jessup!

  17

  ‘BURNEY’S MEETING’

  Spring 1927.

  By spring of ’27, work in the Howden shed was in full swing. The noise struck visitors first—the crash of steel against steel, banging, shouting and often, laughter and singing. Half the transverse frames, up to 130 feet in diameter, had been hung from the ceiling beams from center toward bow and stern. The place was alive with men everywhere like ants—on dangling bosun’s chairs, swings, webs of scaffold and swaying firemen’s ladders.

  While working at Howden and visiting Cardington, Lou sensed this mounting tension between the two teams. He saw increasing strain in other quarters, too—within Howden itself. During a visit to Howden, Burney attended one of Wallis’s meetings after enjoying one of his liquid lunches at The Railway Station pub. He made a point of sitting at the head of the table, in Wallis’s chair. Wallis sat at the opposite end with Lou, Norway and Teed. Burney, the purple veins in his cheeks pronounced, sat hunched forward over the table like a greyhound. The room soon smelled of Burney’s beer and whisky breath.

  “I called this meeting to discuss where we stand on all components of the airship. I’m concerned we’re falling behind,” Burney announced.

  Wallis said nothing. This was one of Wallis’s regularly scheduled meetings held in his office every Monday afternoon. Burney hadn’t called it—he’d merely shown up.

  “Let’s start with gas bag harnesses, gas bags and valves. Where are we on those items?” Burney asked, looking around the table.

  “The harnesses are designed. I’m satisfied with them. As for the gas bags and gas valves, we’ll get them from Zeppelin. We don’t have the means to manufacture gas bags here, and I suggest we don’t try to get them from Cardington,” Wallis said.

  “Absolutely not,” Burney agreed. “They’d string us out ‘til kingdom come.”

  “The German gas valves can’t be improved on and the price is reasonable,” Teed said.

  “No point in reinventing the wheel,” Wallis said.

  “Quite. What about weight? Where do we stand?” Burney glanced sharply at Wallis. “This is critical.”

  “We’re on target,” Wallis answered.

  “And what about factor of safety? What are we working to?”

  “Around 4.5. Which means we have plenty of margin of safety,” Wallis answered.

  “I don’t need you to tell me what it means.” Burney snapped. “What about the servo assistance for the elevators and rudders? A little bird told me Cardington has designed elaborate systems for their ship. I’m disturbed to hear we haven’t done so. Why not?”

  Norway leaned forward. “I s-studied this for m-months. M-my c-calculations sh-show we don’t n-n-need them.”

  “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Y-y-yes.”

  “Come on, spit it out, man!”

  “Y-y-yes.”

  “I want you to go through all your calculations again and when you’ve done that, check them again. After that, have them checked by Professors Bairstow and Pippard,” Burney demanded. Wallis often consulted the two professors with the Airworthiness Panel on various structural issues. Wallis grimaced and his face began to flush.

  “Now I want to talk about procedure,” Burney said, looking accusingly at Wallis. “I want you to make a habit of visiting the engineers on a daily basis at the same time of day. I’m seeing too much rework in the machine shop which could’ve been avoided if you’d caught these mistakes on the drawing board.”

  “I don’t need you to come here telling me how to manage operations. I’m the design engineer and I’ll run things the way I see fit!” Wallis said, his face beet red.

  Burney was unfazed. “The deficiency lists are too long. The rework in the shops is costing me a fortune. This is stuff you should’ve caught before shop drawings were issued.”

  There was an angry silence. Burney leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “I see it’s necessary for me to teach you people the facts of life. Money is what makes the world go round. This ship will be a financial loss to this company. We’re fighting a war of attrition here, but you seem not to understand. We knew it’d be a loss before we started, but it’s an investment in our future. We want to build a successful airship, not a bloody pie in the sky like those silly arses at Cardington.”

  Burney leaned forward again, elbows on the table. “So gentlemen, this is why I’m intent on guarding against waste—wasted man hours, wasted research, costing money we don’t have. Let’s talk about the engines: Where are we with them?” Burney looked from one to the other.

  “We looked into d-developing a k-kerosene-hydrogen engine—”

  “And?”

  “That’s years away in development and I’ve dropped the idea,” Wallis said.

  “That’s what I’m talking about. Don’t just drop ideas without talking to me first,” Burney fumed. “Working on ideas costs me money!”

  “I-I’ve been doing research on the B-Beardmore diesels developed for the C-Canadian railway—”

  Norway’s stutter was irritating Burney. He kept rolling his eyes.

  “Railway engines?” he exclaimed, glaring at Norway.

  “They weigh t-t-twelve hundred pounds each,” Norway said.

  “Forget them,” Wallis said.

  “What do you propose then?” Burney asked, turning on Wallis.

  “We’ll use Rolls-Royce Condors,” Wallis said. “I’ve already made up my mind.”

  “Petrol?” Burney queried.

  “We’ll never get off the ground with diesel engines!” Wallis answered.

  “Okay, Condors it is then. We’ll get reconditioned ones. They’ll be half the price and be as good as new,” Burney said. “Any objections?” He glared at the group, daring them to oppose him.

  “The government may not be happy with us using second-hand engines,” Teed said. Wallis shook his head in disbelief.

  “Doesn’t say anywhere in our contract we can’t use re-conditioned engines.”

  “We’d b-be breaking Lord Thomson’s r-rules. He wouldn’t be p-pleased. He wanted us to use d-d-diesels.”

  “To hell with Thomson and his rules. He’s long gone—along with all his comrades.”

  Lou thought about the events leading to Thomson’s departure last October. Since then, the communist editor and his henchmen had been tried and thrown in jail. “Poor Lord Thomson,” he muttered.

  Burney exploded. “That genius stole all my visionary ideas and took them for his own and then dreamed up this crackpot competition. The Conservative Government had agreed to my scheme long before that clown came on the scene and reneged on everything.”

  Lou choked into his fist.

  Oh dear, now I’ve upset him.

  “All for the sake of increasing the size of government and squashing private enterprise. It was for his own personal aggrandizement—to satisfy his wild ambitions! Not to mention he was trying to impress some bloody Romanian princess he’s been after. Every inbred, royal, blue-blood European has been sniffing at that woman’s drawers for years, like mongrels. She’s like a bitch on heat. Now he’s a lord, he thinks he’s royalty. The woman’s a siren. S
he’ll be the death of him. No, he deserved to be kicked out. He’s a bloody Marxist radical, a hypocritical bastard like the rest of those conmen—out for himself. Everything about those people is just one great big lie!”

  Lou glanced at Wallis apologetically. No use; Wallis was seething.

  Holy cow, that set him off! I wonder who this dame is. Must be quite some broad!

  “Thomson might be back,” Teed interjected lamely, but no one was listening.

  “And where did you get all your great visionary ideas, Mr. Burney?” Wallis said glaring at Burney.

  A long, painful pause ensued. Everyone waited for the explosion.

  “Now, you just wait a minute! You did work on the R80, a moderately successful airship and a few other small ones, but the building of six great airships was my idea!” Burney blustered.

  “Fuelled by me!” Wallis answered.

  “Okay, you kicked around the idea of building a bigger airship. Without my vision you wouldn’t be sitting here, in your cocoon, working on a five- million-cubic-foot airship. It was my dream. It was I who conceived the building of six gigantic airships. It was I who made all this happen. Not you! Not even Thomson! You’re forgetting your place, Wallis. Without me, you wouldn’t have a job.” Burney’s bloodshot eyes swept around the table to Norway and Teed. “None of you would!”

  Wallis pushed back his chair and stood up, buttoning his jacket. Burney looked up incredulously. “What are you doing? Where do you think you’re going?” he shouted.

  “I’ve heard enough.” Wallis walked out, closing the door quietly behind him. Lou stared after him with admiration.

  That’s class! Most guys would’ve slammed the door.

  “Come back here at once!” Burney yelled.

  Teed and Norway gave each other embarrassed looks. Burney got up.

  “All right, gentlemen. We’ll finish it there. I’ll deal with Mr. Wallis later.” They trooped back to their own rooms in silence. Wallis had gone across the field to his bungalow. He wasn’t seen for the rest of the day. Lou figured he must’ve quit.

  Much to everyone’s relief, Wallis appeared in his office next morning as usual. Nothing came of this altercation except that relations between the two men grew steadily worse. In coming months and years, things deteriorated to the point where they were working against each other, with Wallis looking for another, more peaceful, avenue to pursue and Burney publicly tearing down the design of both R100 and R101 in books and interviews. They were too small, he declared, and not the right shape—they needed to be flatter and oval shaped. His belief in the concept of airships hadn't waned.

  18

  ‘NERVOUS NICK’

  Spring 1927.

  During spring of 1927, the airship’s frame steadily took shape with more workers being hired every day. One morning, a young man about twenty-five, came into the shed. He was thin, roughly dressed and unshaven. Lou, Norway and the shop foreman stood talking at the foot of one of the fireman’s ladders. He waited humbly by, until they’d finished speaking. At last, the foreman turned to him.

  “What do you want?”

  “Looking for work, sir.”

  “As what?”

  “A rigger, sir.”

  “Done it before, ’ave yer?”

  “Well, no sir, but I can learn.”

  “What’s yer name?”

  “Nick, sir, Nick Steele.”

  “Got nerves to match, ’ave yer?”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, sir?”

  “Not nervous are yer?”

  “No, sir. Not at all.”

  The foreman pointed to the ladder, which seemed to reach the roof.

  “See this? It’s 110 foot.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Any problem?”

  “No problem at all, sir.”

  “Ever climbed one before?”

  “Er, no, sir.”

  “Up you go then, lad. Show us what you’re made of.”

  Nick walked boldly to the foot of the ladder, grabbed the rails and peered up the treads. The top was almost invisible. He set his jaw. Lou and Norway glanced at one another. This was going to be interesting. They’d been through this themselves. Nick set off suddenly at a vertical run, trying to overcome fears he didn’t know he had until this moment. When he got about a third of the way up, he stopped, the ladder swaying wildly from side to side.

  “Don’t stop, lad. Keep going!” the foreman yelled. But it was useless. Nick reluctantly came down. “I’m sorry, gov’. I just couldn’t go any further,” he said, painfully out of breath and unable to hide his bitter disappointment.

  It was lunchtime and Lou felt sorry for the man. “Hungry, Nick?”

  “No, sir. I’m good, thanks.”

  Lou put his hand on the man’s scrawny shoulder. “Come on, pal, we’ll get you something to eat,” he said.

  Nick didn’t protest and the four men trooped over to the nearby canteen, full of workmen in overalls eating bread rolls and drinking beer. Lou bought the despondent Nick a cheese sandwich and gave him a bottle of John Smith’s ale. The others chose their eats and they sat at a wooden table, where Nick, between ravenous bites, told them he’d been unemployed for five months and things were desperate at home what with his wife and three kids and sick mother. After lunch they trooped back to the shed.

  “Can I give it another go, sir?” Nick asked, looking at each of them in desperation. Please let me try it again.”

  “I used to be afraid w-when I f-first got here,” Norway said. “Now I run around on the c-catwalks in the roof and climb the c-cat ladders without a second thought. Maybe you can get over your f-fear.”

  Once inside the shed, Nick made for the ladder again and went bounding up. He passed the point where he’d frozen the first time and kept going, but he slowed down with every step as the ladder swayed more the higher he got. He stopped three quarters of the way up. Norway and the foreman yelled up at him, “Go on! Go on! You can do it!”

  “That was an improvement,” Lou said.

  Nick stood there for some moments, trying to find the courage and for the ladder to become still. He slowly started the descent and when he reached bottom, he burst into tears.

  “What am I going to do?” he sobbed.

  “Come on, buddy, I’ll buy you another beer,” Lou said, grabbing him by the arm and leading him away. “We’ll be back shortly and he’ll try again,” Lou called over his shoulder.

  Fifteen minutes later, Lou and Nick came back, Nick smiling. A crowd had gathered. Nick made for the ladder and without hesitation and with the crowd shouting “Go, go, go!” he made it to the top where he gave a triumphant yell and took a bow. Below, everyone cheered and gave him a big round of applause which filled the shed and echoed fifteen times.

  “The trouble was, ‘Nervous Nick’ wasn’t drunk enough!” Lou said. And from that day on, the name stuck—‘Nervous Nick’, the man who owed everything to John Smith (and Lou Remington).

  19

  JESSUP

  Summer 1927.

  Jessup had become ingrained in their lives—someone they had to live with—like a third member in their marriage. He continued to follow Charlotte around and loitered near the hospital in plain view. Nothing had changed since Lou and Charlotte were married; in fact, things had become a whole lot worse. Lou went to the police station and filed a report. He was told Jessup had the right to stand wherever he liked in the street, as long as he didn’t interfere physically with anyone, and, if he did, it’d be necessary to produce witnesses. It put a strain on Lou and Charlotte’s relationship.

  A couple of times after they’d gone to bed—once when making love and another after they’d fallen asleep—they were disturbed by sounds in the living room. Lou crept into the other room thinking they had a burglar. He found the bedroom door ajar—which they both swore had been closed—and the front door wide open. Lou heard the garden gate squeak, a cackling laugh, running footsteps, and moments later, a motorcycle kick-started. Lou knew
the sound of a 490 cc Norton—the motorbike Jessup rode.

  The situation continued to become more serious, perhaps even dangerous. Lou went to the police again, but after a polite interview and making a report, things went nowhere. Nothing had been stolen, no one had been hurt, no damage had been done, and Lou couldn’t prove Jessup was the culprit.

  Jessup filled Lou’s thoughts incessantly. He worried about Charlotte, especially when he was away at Cardington. Powerless, he wondered how much their marriage could take. He didn’t mention the problem to his colleagues at Howden. The whole business seemed too juvenile and embarrassing; the thought of bringing it up with them he found humiliating. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, they did. He returned from Cardington to find Jessup in the shed, working alongside the riggers as a laborer with two of his yobos. Lou went to the foreman, trying his best to appear casual.

  “New faces?”

  “Took ’em on this morning,” the foreman said.

  “Who are they?”

  “They’re from Moortop over in Ackworth. Seem like decent lads. Very polite and they’ve been working pretty good.”

  “I see.”

  “They seemed desperate for work.”

  “Is that so?” Lou frowned.

  “Do you have a problem with them?”

  “Er, no.”

  “You sure?”

  “Not at all.”

  Devastated, Lou stood glaring at Jessup. He kept his eyes down, but Lou could see a smirk on his face as he worked. Lou knew his game: He’d lie low and not make trouble—the perfect employee—for the time being. Lou was in a quandary. He couldn’t discuss the problem with anyone at the air station, but he’d have to tell Charlotte.

  Lou went home after work and sat down heavily on the couch with a sigh of frustration.

  “What’s up, love?” Charlotte said, leaning over and kissing him. “Is everything all right?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “They’ve hired Jessup.”