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

by David Dennington

  “Sounds like they’re both baling out,” Charlotte said.

  “No, Burney’s not b-baling. He’s suggesting designing elliptical shaped ships, which is a damned neat concept, actually,” Norway said.

  “What’s Wallis gonna do?” Lou asked.

  “Design aeroplanes. He’s moving to Weybridge.”

  “Wow! How long before he goes?”

  “I think he’ll be here until this ship’s launched. He told me he definitely wants to make the trip to Canada, though.”

  “Which I guess’ll be sometime next year,” said Lou.

  “It turns out that for the past year Wallis has been visiting a workshop in Brough, just up the road from here. There’s an engineer building a great big seaplane and Barnes is completely taken with it. Of course, he says they don’t know what they’re doing, but now he’s all fired up about aeroplanes.”

  “Rotten traitor!” Charlotte said suddenly.

  “Gives him a second string to his bow,” Lou said.

  “If airships don’t work out, he’s got another avenue,” Norway said.

  Charlotte, said nothing. She stared down into her Dover sole.

  Perhaps he’s come to his senses.

  She felt empty. She’d thought these men knew what they were doing and they’d get things right. Now Wallis was abandoning them and Burney was questioning the basic designs.

  Why?

  To her, ‘If airships don’t work out’ meant: 'If they crash and burn, again'. Lou lifted his glass showing no feelings of betrayal. “Here’s to Barnes Wallis and to his future endeavors—whatever they may be.”

  “Yes, to a great engineer,” Norway said. They raised their glasses.

  “You don’t seem bothered in the least,” Charlotte said, glaring at Norway.

  “No, he’s happy about it—he’s moving up. He’ll be the new chief, right, Nev?” Lou said.

  “Could be, but I tell you this: Wallis needs to get away from here.

  His health has suffered terribly. The migraines are killing him. Changing the subject: I have more news,” Norway said with a toothy grin.

  “What?” Charlotte said.

  “They liked my, er our fourth book So Disdained. It’s coming out this year.”

  “Congratulations, Mr. Shute!” Lou exclaimed.

  “Thank you both. You don’t know how much you’ve helped me.”

  “Okay, put our cut toward another wheel for that car of yours.”

  “And when you’re famous, I want to be your editor—don’t forget,” Charlotte said.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Norway replied.

  Wallis lifted the bullhorn to his mouth. “Okay, start engine No.1.”

  Lou stood in the Howden shed beside engine car No.1. Norway was at No.2. Lou watched the engineer start the engine through the car window. Once they were running, the noise became deafening. The bullhorn became useless and Wallis put it down. After that, everything was done by hand signals and thumbs up or down. Each engine was run for two hours forward and thirty minutes in reverse.

  The eighteen-foot propellers whirled two feet above the concrete floor, causing the airship to surge forward and up and down due to air currents generated—like a massive fan. Lou knew their lives would never be in greater peril. If the restraining cables gave way it would mean certain death for all, not to mention complete demolition of the seven acre shed. Lou looked at the engineer in the car next to him. The man gave him a beaming smile and a thumbs-up. Lou smiled back.

  This is so damned phony. No one’s fooling anyone.

  He hadn’t told Charlotte about the danger and when the tests were over, he was glad he’d kept his mouth shut. Engine trials were completed within three days and were a total success. To Lou, the whole exercise was sheer madness and he thought a much safer method could have been devised.

  He and Charlotte headed south to Cardington for more of the same in Shed No.1. Similar trials were conducted on the Cardington R101 engines with Richmond and Scott in attendance, assisted by Lou and Rope. Everyone cheated death once more, and Lou again said nothing to Charlotte. He figured he’d used up two more lives—if he were a cat, he had three left.

  37

  THE QUARREL

  September 1929.

  Lou spent less time up at Howden now the gas bags were installed and the engine tests completed. Howden R100 floated in her shed, her suspension wires slack. Bedford Hospital offered Charlotte a nursing position and she was happy to go back to work. She hoped this was temporary, still desperate for a child. She and Lou kept trying, although Lou became increasingly wrapped up with his job. This sometimes irritated Charlotte. He didn’t understand—having a baby was the most important thing in her life. He was either at the shed or studying at home.

  Things erupted in September. Lou was at the dining table poring over navigation books loaned by Johnston. Charlotte came up behind him, leaned over and put her arms around his neck. “Lou,” she whispered.

  He felt her warm breath on his neck. “What d’you want, Charlie?”

  “You.”

  She bit his ear, playfully. He felt her tongue slide invitingly into his ear. It felt good, but this wasn’t the time. He had too much on his mind.

  “Charlotte, I’ve got to study this stuff. It’s important. You don’t want me to get lost over the Atlantic, do you?”

  “Come to bed, Remy.” Her voice was husky and seductive.

  “Not now. I must finish this. Johnny’s gonna test me in the morning.”

  “Saturday!”

  “So?”

  “Come to bed.”

  “Look, I’ve got to do this and I’m really tired, honey.”

  Charlotte leapt back and straightened up. “Damn! All you care about is that bloody airship. I’m sick and tired of it!”

  “That’s not true.”

  “We were so happy up north. Now it’s all about the airship. You don’t care about me.”

  “Stop being melodramatic. I have to work on this.”

  “For all your dead buddies—including Josh of the ‘Good Ship Shenandoah’! Right?”

  “That’s enough, Charlotte!”

  Her eyes blazed. “Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a house full of dead people!”

  “Will you shut the hell up!”

  “I’m alive. You should care about your wife!”

  “Look, I can’t help it if you can’t get pregnant.”

  “Perhaps you’re just not man enough!”

  “I said, it’s not my fault you can’t get pregnant.”

  “How do you know that? You won’t go to a bloody doctor to find out!”

  “Dammit Charlotte! You never stop. There’s no need to behave like a damned prostitute in the back bar of some Yorkshire dockside pub.’’

  “You rotten bastard! How dare you!”

  Lou swung around in his chair to get up. Charlotte drew her arm back to slap his face. He grabbed her wrists. “Stop it, you bitch!”

  She broke free and stormed out, slamming the door, causing a framed photograph of Candlestick Cottage to fall to the floor and break into pieces. Lou cleaned up the glass and tried to go back to studying for his test, but it was impossible. He lay down on the couch, refusing to go up to the bedroom. He slept fitfully until awakened by Charlotte’s voice. He’d no idea how long she’d been sitting next to him in the dark, but he was glad. She took his hand.

  “I’m sorry, Lou. It was all my fault. You didn’t deserve it. Please forgive me. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. There’s so much hurting me deep inside and I worry about you all the time … and I want a baby so much and—”

  “Honey what’s hurting you?”

  She didn’t answer. She sat looking down shaking her head. Lou knew he’d gone too far last night. He’d been a brute.

  “Charlie, I’m sorry for what I called you.” He screwed up his face, unable to believe he’d said those things.

  “I deserved it. I was a perfect bitch.”

 
“Don’t say that … but you’re right about one thing. I do much of it for them. It seems crazy, but it tears me up to be the one left alive. When I survived the war, it was the same. The chaplain told me my life had been spared for a reason and it was up to me to discover that reason. So, I do this, thinking maybe this is why. Charlotte, I can’t let them down—remember that.”

  Charlotte put her arms around him, drawing him close. “I do understand, Lou. I’m a mess, too. I get so desperate. Sometimes I think this is the day it’s gonna happen—I’m gonna fall. It’s a hundred million-to-one chance, and I hate to see the moment slip away.”

  Lou looked at her questioningly. Was there more to all her sadness? Something deeper. He was at a loss. “We’ll keep trying,” he said finally.

  “I thought you were going to see Johnny this morning.”

  “I didn’t finish. I’ll see him later.”

  Charlotte put her hand to his face running her fingertips down his scar. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry, baby.”

  Charlotte’s face brightened. “I want us to have a big launching party.”

  “You don’t have to do that, sweetheart.”

  “They’ll be pulling it out soon, won’t they? I want to have a really big bash. We’ll invite everyone. We’ll have Walter and Sammy Church and Irene, and Joe Binks and Ginger Bell and their wives – I don’t know their names—and Freddie and Billy and Cameron and his dear wife—if they’re still speaking—and Dizzy and Polly and Mr. Leech and his wife, he’s married isn’t he? And …”

  “Charlie, these are folks we have round all the time.”

  “I know, but I want this to be really special—a big celebration. We can get Captain Irwin and Olivia—if they’ll come—and Mr. Atherstone and his wife and Johnny Johnston, oh I do like Johnny, and he can bring his wife—what’s her name?”

  “Janita.”

  “Oh, and Major Scott—thank God for Major Scott—and we’ll get Inspector McWade. Oh, I do like that man, thank God for him, too!”

  “You’re forgetting Wing Commander Colmore—my boss—he’s the most important guy in the joint!”

  “Oh yes, and him, too. And your friend the steward who likes you.”

  “What about Lord Thomson, you’re leaving him out,” Lou said, chuckling.

  “We’ll invite him too, if you want. Do you think he’d come?”

  “Yes, and he’ll bring Princess Marthe Bibesco and Prime Minister MacDonald, no doubt. Charlie, Charlie. You’re being silly.”

  Lou led Charlotte to the bedroom.

  “I’m loopy aren’t I,” she said.

  “No, you’re not loopy.”

  As she lay down she said, “Lou, we will have that launching party, won’t we? I’ll bake a cake and you can play them some of your mountain music and some of your own songs. You can sing the one you wrote for me—“Oh Charlotte, My Charlotte”.”

  “Yes all right, we’ll invite them all, but it’s a bit short notice. I doubt the Prime Minister will be able to make it.”

  “Oh Lou, I do love you so.”

  38

  LIGHTEN HER LOAD

  September 1929.

  Later that morning, not wanting to appear rude, Lou went to Cardington House and found Johnston in his office. “Hi, Johnny, I'm real sorry about this morning. I had trouble studying last night and then I couldn't sleep,” Lou said.

  Well, technically it was true.

  “Don’t worry, Lou. We’ll do it when you’re ready.”

  Lou went and stood by the window. He could see a lot of activity beyond the Cardington airfield. There were countless trucks laden with metal parts being unloaded by dozens of people.

  “What the heck’s all that metal framing for?” Lou asked.

  “It’s the fair. They always come to the village in the autumn. It’s good timing. There’ll be thousands of people here for the launching—they’ll make a few bob.”

  “What’s the latest?” Lou asked.

  “We should have the temporary permit to fly this week. The launch is set for Thursday, subject to weather. They’re desperate to get her out before Howden.”

  “The race is on!”

  “Silly buggers!” Johnston sneered.

  “Charlotte wants to have a launching party.”

  “Good. I hope she’ll play the piano. I like a good old singsong—presuming I’m invited!”

  “Of course you are. I’m sure she’ll play all your favorites.”

  Johnston sang a verse of “Yes Sir, That’s My Baby” and jigged around the office.

  “Johnny, you’re a star. But don’t give up your day job, ol' buddy.”

  Lou left and as he walked past Richmond’s office, someone called his name. He poked his nose around the door. Rope and Colmore were standing at the drawing board with Richmond.

  “Ah, come in, Lou,” Richmond said.

  Lou gave a polite nod to Richmond and Rope and smiled at Colmore.

  “Morning, gentlemen,” he said.

  “Rope and I have completed our calculations. As you know, we’ve been doing lift and trim tests all week.”

  “How’s it look?” Lou asked.

  “Our suspicions have been confirmed, I’m afraid,” Richmond said.

  Colmore looked grim. “We have thirty-two tons of useful lift,” he said

  “And we’re supposed to have sixty?” Lou said.

  “Quite,” Richmond said.

  “We’ve made a list of dispensable items,” Rope said, handing Lou a sheet of paper. He began reading.

  “Servo assistance, bunks, lavatories, windows, ballast tanks …”

  “We’ll reduce the number of cabins from twenty-eight to sixteen, remove some washing facilities, and replace the glass on the promenade decks with Plexiglas,” Richmond explained.

  “And the ballast tanks?”

  “We think we can dispense with two of them. We’re also looking at loosening the gas bag harnesses—in fact they’ve started that,” Richmond said, pausing for Lou’s reaction.

  “That’s risky! The gas bags’ll get torn up,” Lou warned.

  “It’s damned risky!” Colmore muttered. “I don’t like it.”

  “She’s 106,000 cubic feet short of the five million we designed her for,” Rope said.

  “How much do you expect to gain by letting out the harnesses?” Lou asked.

  “We’ll pick up another 100,000 cubic feet,” Richmond answered.

  “Won’t the bags chafe?” Lou asked.

  The topic was depressing Colmore, who was chewing his fist.

  “We’ll need to make sure they don’t. Simple truth is: without radical changes, a voyage to India will be completely out of the question,” Richmond said. At least they were facing the truth. Lou was relieved about that.

  “What do you propose to do now, sir?” he asked Colmore.

  “We’ll do some test flights after the launch and then reassess the

  situation.”

  “We’ll find out if she’s manageable without the steering servo. If so, we’ll remove that, too,” Rope said.

  “If these changes are made, we’ll increase lift by 6 tons—not enough. Damn! I wish we’d made her a bay longer. We had room in Shed No. 1.” Richmond said.

  “Maybe it’s not too late,” Lou said.

  Billy arrived from Howden the following day, now assigned to Cardington. Lou met him at the station on the motorbike and took him home for a few hours to see Charlotte before delivering him to Freddie’s. Charlotte made a fuss of the boy and gave him a Sunday roast dinner. He was now sixteen, tall and wiry like his dad. He was also smoking Woodbines like his dad.

  “Seen anything of Mr. Norway and Mr. Wallis?” Lou asked over lunch.

  “We see quite a bit of Mr. Norway, but Mr. Wallis hasn’t been around. They say he’s working at Weybridge now,” Billy replied.

  “How’s your mum? Hope you’ve been taking good care of her,” Lou asked.

  “She’s all right. We’ve been
staying with me nan.”

  “Now you’re a working man, I expect you’ve been helping her out a bit, eh?”

  “Nah, she’s all right. She’s workin.’ How’s your mum? Are you takin’ care of her?” Billy asked with a sly smile. Lou knew Billy was joking, but the jibe stung. He’d conscientiously written every week but, thanks to Billy, realized he’d neglected his mother. He knew his brother and sister were still at home and they’d make sure she was all right. It gave Lou license to do as he liked, but he wasn’t proud of that. He pondered the idea of getting down to Virginia on the train, if fortunate enough to be chosen for the Montreal flight. He’d work on that idea.

  “Yes, Lou, we should go to see your mum one day,” Charlotte said.

  “She’d love to meet you, honey. You know she always goes on about you in her letters.”

  “I’d love to see Virginia.”

  “God’s country!” Lou said.

  “Well, I’ll be …I’ve never heard you say that before,” Charlotte said.

  39

  THE SIGNAL

  October 12, 1929

  It was 3:30 a.m. and very dark. This would surely be the most wonderful day in Freddie Marsh’s young life. Here he was on the corner of Crawshay Road on the outskirts of Bedford with a hundred other men ready to form part of the walking party. The group looked sadly pathetic, with Freddie and his father no exceptions—down and out like the rest, dressed in rags and old overcoats, cloth caps and worn out boots.

  The British economy, like that of the United States, was in dire straits. The men were hunched on this damp street corner smoking cigarettes. They desperately needed work. Their breath came out in smoky clouds under the streetlamp, their nervous eyes darting back and forth to the sky. They were waiting for the confirmation signal. The previous night, the searchlight beam lit up the sky, indicating a walking party would be required at dawn. Three short bursts this morning would be confirmation. They’d been on standby the last two nights for an early morning launch, but stood down due to increasing winds both mornings. Things looked good for a launch today; the sky was clear, wind dead calm. Freddie was keyed up.