“Oh, Lou, I don’t want to leave Candlestick.”
“Neither do I honey. I love this place as much as you. But once we get down there, we’ll make new friends, you’ll see. Remember, I already know lots of people.”
“Yes, and you’ll be off flying around the world in that bloody airship. And I’ll be stuck at home on my own. … Oh Lou, …”
“Come on, Charlie. We’ll give it a try and I promise if you’re not happy, I’ll quit.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“I don’t want to leave this place. I’d hate it if anything happened to you.”
“Don’t worry, nothing’s gonna happen.”
“What will John do with this place?”
“Perhaps he’ll sell it.”
At 8 o’clock, John arrived to take them to Hull Railway Station. They’d arranged with him to pick up their belongings and transport them down to Bedford at the weekend in his van. Lou had sold his motorbike and planned to buy a newer one in Bedford. He was looking forward to shopping around.
After putting two small suitcases in the boot of John’s car, Charlotte and Lou went back inside the cottage for one last look and to make sure Fluffy was all right with plenty of food and milk. John would send her down with the furniture in her cage. He was going to look in on her in the meantime. Charlotte cried and Lou put his arms around her.
“Don’t be sad, love,” Lou pleaded.
Charlotte said nothing. She stared out the window at the rear garden and fond memories of their friends came back to her. Her snowdrops and shrubs were just starting to bloom and she wondered who’d care for them now. She remembered all the things they’d done in this house—their first real home together. It had always been full of friends and laughter. She could hear it now—so many happy memories, and some sad ones, too. She thought of Lenny, the baby that never came, and the box room where she hoped to put the crib—but which had gradually become full of junk. She was heartbroken, and for the first time in her life, bitter.
Charlotte walked to the car while Lou turned the key in the deadlock on the front door. Charlotte climbed into the back seat. John turned to her from the driver’s seat and forced a smile.
“Come on, love, it won’t be so bad. You’re off on a new adventure.”
Charlotte said nothing. She felt empty.
Lou climbed into the passenger front seat and handed the keys to John who slid them into his pocket with a final sad nod. They pulled away. Charlotte stared at the cottage until it disappeared from view. She believed she could never feel more miserable than this. But she was wrong.
PART FIVE
CARDINGTON
24
THE IN-BETWEEN YEARS
1924 – 1929.
When the Labour Party had been kicked out of office, Thomson didn’t sit around feeling sorry for himself. He visited MacDonald once or twice a year, traveling up by air with their good friend Capt. Hinchliffe, chief pilot with a Dutch airline. ‘Hinch’ sometimes rented a two- or four-seater plane and flew Thomson and MacDonald to Lossiemouth on one of his days off. Thomson usually stayed for a week or two at The Hillocks, during which time they went for long walks, fished or played golf. They also visited local Highland beauty spots and dined at favorite hotels.
On their walks, Thomson and MacDonald strategized, devising new policies to get Britain on a permanent socialist footing once they regained power. MacDonald assured Thomson it would happen soon. Thomson believed him.
Thomson became ‘a man in waiting’—a role he’d learned to live with for years. Besides Marthe, getting back in office was all he thought about. He yearned to be back behind his ornate desk at Gwydyr House.
Taking up residence in that mansion on Whitehall and setting up the New British Airship Program—his creation!—had been the greatest thrill of his professional life. He believed it to be his destiny. He loved his Air Ministry position and all it entailed—it remained key in his plan to win Marthe for good. She was the ultimate prize; his cabinet seat and elevation in stature were the means to that end and so obviously preordained—all he had to do was be patient.
For the first two years after leaving office, Thomson started his memoirs and got on with writing Smaranda, in part, a book about Marthe. During a visit to Bucharest, he presented it to her as soon as he alighted from the train with a note inscribed on the inside cover describing it as ‘a testament of his devotion.’
Since his rise, Marthe had become more accessible—hard for him to admit, but true. She had her own life, a husband, and position—maybe even a lover or two. He tried not to dwell on that unbearable thought, reminding himself she had little or no interest in sex. As an acclaimed writer, possessing the gift of words, she’d won the highest honors and praise for her literary works in Paris. He’d been nothing but a soldier and a mere student of history, art and languages. A brigadier general wouldn’t be considered lofty enough in her social circles. For her to have become ‘Mrs. Thomson’ would have been too embarrassing to even contemplate.
Now everything had changed, as he’d hoped and prayed it would. He’d become someone—a close friend and confidante of the British Prime Minister, a man who’d be in that position again soon enough. She asked after MacDonald constantly, which he noted. He was aware she adored powerful men.
Maybe one day, I myself might aspire …
He met Marthe in Paris two or three times a year at her apartment on the fashionable Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. He also visited her in Romania, where he stayed with her at Mogosoëa for ten blissful days. Thomson took pleasure in the beautiful gardens of the Romanian Renaissance palace with its magnificent courtyards, chapel, Venetian palace, ponds and lily pads, all set on the rolling banks of Mogosoëa Lake. They took romantic walks, picnicking beside the whispering waters, a perfect place to relax and prepare before re-entering the rough and tumble of British politics.
While in Bucharest, Thomson met Marthe’s husband Prince George again. The last time they’d met was when they worked together in the war, destroying Romania’s oil wells. George came by with his mistress and in the most civilized manner, the four had dinner together in the grand dining room. Although Thomson found it strange and offensive to his sensibilities, he accepted the situation—she was sitting beside him. That was all that mattered.
Thomson thought it ironic that he and Marthe’s husband shared the same interest in aviation, although George was a highly skilled pilot. Thomson had no intention of ever being at the controls of an aircraft. After dinner, George, a little drunk, drove off in his Mercedes with his mistress to the house they shared, while Thomson and Marthe retired to their adjoining rooms.
Thomson served on several committees at the Royal Aero Club in London for a couple of years and was later voted chairman. This gave him stature and contact with the most influential people in aviation, keeping him in the eye of the top brass in the RAF and the Air Ministry. They regarded him as the next Minister of State for Air, assuming Labour regained power, which most thought inevitable.
During these years, Thomson traveled the United States and Canada from coast to coast, giving speeches on aviation and trade between the continents. These speaking engagements supplemented his income from the House of Lords, helping to finance his trips to Paris and Bucharest.
Marthe met him at the luxurious Willard Hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C. in December of 1928 where, as chairman of the Royal Aero Club of the United Kingdom, he headed a British delegation at the International Aviation Conference.
The circumstances were, once again, bizarre. As chairman of the Romanian Aviation Society, Marthe’s husband had also been invited and had brought his mistress along. They, too, stayed at the Willard, but in a luxurious suite. Thankfully, Thomson’s and Marthe’s adjoining rooms were on a different floor.
For Marthe, this trip had a dual purpose: to spend time with Thomson and to promote her latest book—already well received in the United States, Canada and
Great Britain.
25
MOVING SOUTH
April 1929.
When Scott mentioned Lou had been posted to Cardington, Captain Irwin volunteered to put him and his wife up until they’d settled in. Lou had met him many times over the past year during his visits to Cardington. Lou and Charlotte had visited Bedford the previous month for Charlotte to inspect a property Lou had been offered for rent which, although expensive, looked promising. The house was on a terrace of homes on Kelsey Street close to Bedford, near the parade of shops Lou knew well. Bay windows ran up the front on three levels from the half buried basement to the third story bedrooms.
Concrete steps led from the parking area up to the entrance door at mid-level. On that level, the living room was at front, dining room at rear, overlooking a long narrow garden. The room below ground level at the front was protected by a retaining wall with a large railed open area, allowing light in the bay windows. That room was ideal for a workshop and storage.
The large main bedroom, situated on the third floor at the rear, had space for a wardrobe, dressing table and a chest of drawers. Two smaller bedrooms overlooked the street. Charlotte chose one she’d decorate as baby’s room. The kitchen, located on the bottom floor had French doors opening onto the rear garden.
Charlotte thought the house had potential for entertaining and gardening. The drawbacks were the beige flowery wallpaper and green linoleum. At least the building had electricity and an inside bathroom on the top floor, unlike other places they’d viewed with gas lighting and no inside lavatory. For hot water, there was a gas geezer over the kitchen sink and bathtub. Although the amenities were better, the place wasn’t as nice as Candlestick, but nothing ever could be. They took the house.
On arrival at Bedford Station, Lou and Charlotte took a cab to the Irwins’ on Putroe Lane, a spacious, pebble-dashed bungalow with a slate roof. Being there was awkward for Charlotte in her unhappy state of mind. Olivia Irwin, tall, attractive, with blond hair and hazel eyes, and a bewitching Scottish accent, sensed Charlotte’s discomfort and went out of her way to be kind. Soon, they were sharing confidences. Charlotte told her how she longed for a child and how she was on the verge of giving up. Olivia, too, wanted a baby, but she and her husband had decided to wait just a little longer. She urged Charlotte not to be bitter and not to give up. Charlotte was relieved she had someone she could talk to now Fanny wasn’t around.
Lou took a bus to Cardington and met the captain while Charlotte and Olivia were getting acquainted. Irwin explained he’d been reviewing blueprints and preparing flight manuals for Cardington R101. A wood-framed office had been built in the shed, which he and First Officer, Lieutenant Commander Noël Atherstone shared. Another office had also been set up for officers at the base of the tower for use when ships were moored there.
The three men went into the shed, where Cardington R101 appeared to be at about the same stage as Howden R100. Both ships had been completely framed, with interior accommodations and finishings well underway. They climbed aboard via a stepladder, moved through the control car and went upstairs to the chartroom overlooking the control car. The layout was different from the Howden ship and the control car smaller. From there, they showed him the officer’s cabins, crew berths and mess, dining room, lounge and promenade decks. Lou was impressed, but he remembered Wallis’s words about things ‘looking good in the shed.’
During the afternoon, Charlotte and Olivia took a bus to the house on Kelsey Street and Charlotte showed Olivia around. Mrs. Jones, a kindly neighbor, knocked on the door offering them tea. Close to the main street, the house was handy for shops and buses. Charlotte told Olivia she’d written for a job at Bedford hospital and was awaiting a reply. She didn’t expect to start work immediately, as Lou would be spending time at Howden when they installed gasbags in Howden R100. Charlotte planned to accompany him and spend time with her parents during that time.
The Royal Airship Works folks at Cardington greeted Lou cordially, making him welcome. He bumped into Walter Potter and Joe Binks, now both gainfully employed on construction of Cardington R101, thanks to Lou. They’d heard Lou and Charlotte were moving down and offered their services. Lou told them he’d be glad of their help.
The Remingtons stayed two days at the Irwin bungalow, with Lou and the captain at Cardington most of that time. Olivia and Charlotte spent time in Bedford buying furniture. They had two pleasant evenings at Putroe Lane when the conversation focused on airships and Lou’s career in the airship service. Charlotte put on a brave face.
On the third day, a Saturday, Lou and Charlotte went to No. 58 Kelsey Street to wait for John Bull’s van. Potter arrived at 10 o’clock with three other young men, anxious to help. Charlotte answered the door, delighted to find Potter on the front step, his face cracking into one of his familiar half-smiles, although she sensed he still bore the effects of R38.
“Walter, lovely to see you! Come in, all of you,” Charlotte said.
Potter took Charlotte’s hand and kissed her cheek. They trooped into the empty living room. Lou hung back while Charlotte was introduced.
“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you, Charlotte. It’s been eight years!” Potter said. He cast his eye around the room. “Hey, this is nice.”
“It will be when it’s painted,” Charlotte said.
“This is Joe Binks’ cousin, Freddie. Joe’s not here yet—he’s always late.” Potter pointed out Freddie who stepped forward and shook Charlotte’s hand. Freddie looked pretty scruffy. Her mind went back to the pathetic souls she used to see leaving Macy’s factory. His jumper was full of holes, shoes worn out and falling apart. She noticed him limp as he walked in. He probably had short leg syndrome, caused in the womb or during birth. She couldn’t get over how much he reminded her of Robert, the young man she’d met during the war. He was much younger of course, but the resemblance was striking.
Such a sweet boy. What a lovely face! I’ll take him under my wing.
“And I brought Arthur Disley along, our electrician,” Potter said.
“Call me ‘Dizzy’,” Disley said, with a droll grin. Charlotte shook his hand. His grip was firm.
A ‘cool customer’—not at all ‘dizzy’—the reliable type.
“This is Cameron—one of the coxswains. His wife, Rosie, works in the gasbag factory.”
Cameron smiled pleasantly.
The picture of innocence. An open, trusting face—he seems like a happy man indeed!
“We mustn’t forget old ‘Bad-Luck’ Sammy Church, over there,” Potter said, pointing at a tall, twenty-four-year-old dressed in a gray sports jacket, white shirt and red tie. His shoes were well shined. He was shy and soft-spoken, with strong features. He had a head of thick brown hair with that just-combed look. He nodded and smiled, not quite looking Charlotte in the eye.
He’s proud of that hair. Loves his Brylcreem!
“Why Bad-Luck?” she asked.
“Just don’t play cards with him. As he scoops up yer money he always says, ‘Oh, bad luck, mate.’” Charlotte laughed. “And he’ll show you a few card tricks, too,” Potter said.
Church pulled out a new deck and held it up. “Glad to know you missus,” he said.
Lou stepped into the middle and was shaking hands all round as a rat-a-tat-tat came at the front door.
“Our stuff should be here any minute. My old boss is trucking it down,” Lou told them while Charlotte opened the door to a breathless Joe Binks.
“Sorry I’m a bit, late, missus,” Binks said.
“Come on Joe, where you bin—lying in bed?” Potter chided.
“No, no, something came up,” Binks stammered.
Charlotte greeted Binks. He’d made a hurried effort to dress and his hair was mess. He appeared jittery, his right eye twitching, which made her smile.
This one wouldn’t make a good fibber.
Ten minutes later, the van drew up and John Bull climbed out of the driver’s seat. Surprised to see him, Lou and Charlo
tte rushed out to greet him at the curb.
“John, what happened? We thought one of the mechanics was driving down.”
“I couldn’t resist. I had to make sure you’re all right, didn’t I?” John said.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Charlotte said. “But I’m so pleased you did!” Her eyes filled with tears.
John winked and put his arms around her. “I’ve got big surprises for both of you. Follow me.” John led everyone to the back of the van. “Close your eyes, Lou,” he said. While Lou closed his eyes, John opened the van doors, revealing an object covered with a sheet. John climbed up and untied it.
“Okay Lou, open your eyes.” As Lou did so, John removed the sheet with a flourish. There stood a gleaming black motorcycle with two enormous chrome-plated tail pipes.
“What the devil’s this?” Lou asked.
“A 1000cc Brough Superior. It came into my shop yesterday. Fella wanted me to sell it for him. Had your name written all over it didn’t it?”
“It’s gorgeous! And yes, I want it. How much does he want?”
“Nothing. It’s a present from me to you.”
Lou was dumbfounded. John pulled a plank down from the van and the six men carefully rolled the bike down. Lou climbed on.
“It’s you all right, sir,” Binks said.
“It’s smashin’!” Freddie exclaimed.
“This is the motorbike Lawrence rides,” John told them.
“Who’s Lawrence?” Freddie asked.
“Lawrence of Arabia. You know the fella who rode around on a camel during the war. Well, he’s traded in his camel and rides one of these now.”
“Looks bloomin’ powerful,” Charlotte said. “You be careful, Lou Remington!”
“John, I don’t know what to say,” Lou said.
“Don’t say anything, just take care, like Charlotte says,” John replied. “And I have a little housewarming present for our Charlotte.”
The Airshipmen: A Novel Based on a True Story. A Tale of Love, Betrayal & Political Intrigue. Page 23