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

by David Dennington

  “Yes, sir,” Potter mumbled. A few minutes later they were over the fairground. The music drifted up to the control car. Lou glanced down and saw the gypsy at the opening of her tent. She stood looking up, her hands on her hips. He didn’t know if she could see him, but felt her eyes on him. Moments later, she’d disappeared. He thought perhaps it’d been his imagination. The people at the fairground were thrilled at the spectacle, waving furiously. Those on the Ferris wheel yelled like crazy people, from what appeared to be eye level.

  “Okay, increase revs on reversing engine No.2 to four hundred,” Scott ordered. “Cut all other engines to dead slow.”

  “They’re already at dead slow,” Irwin said.

  “Er, right. Continue on. We’ll coast in from here.”

  The airship passed over the Cardington fence where the crowd had doubled in size since morning. Cars sounded their horns; flags, handkerchiefs and scarves were waved, resembling a soccer crowd. The ship wasn’t aligned with the tower and their altitude had been misjudged.

  “We’re not gonna make it. We’ll have to go around again, sir,” Irwin said.

  “Er, yes. I think you’re right, Irwin. That coxswain messed up. Get us out of here. We’ll start over.”

  Irwin took a deep breath. “Go to full power on 1 and 3—cut power on 2!” The ship swung away from the tower and, when safely clear, Irwin fired up engines 4 and 5 to bring the ship up with dynamic lift. They climbed to four hundred feet and traveled toward the east, making a huge circle in preparation for another attempt.

  Twenty minutes later, they were in position to try again. As soon as Irwin had the engines set at the right revs, Scott stepped in again and took over. Precisely the same thing happened and again they had to start from scratch. After dumping more fuel, the third attempt went slightly better, and as they approached the tower, Irwin gave instructions for the mooring line to be dropped. Lou communicated with Church at the bow.

  “Church, drop the mooring line.”

  Church shouted a ‘Yes, sir’ back to him. Lou knew he’d have the hatch open, ready to drop the line. The ground crewmen were also at the ready. Then Lou saw Freddie, like a sprinter coming out of the starting blocks. He’d never seen the boy run before. He seemed to hop and run at the same time, but even with his limp, he was swift. Freddie raced under the airship toward the bow, where he knew the line would be dropped. Lou saw the other crewmen running after him waving their arms frantically—to stop him. Freddie turned, and seeing the others chasing him, ran all the harder, throwing back his head and laughing hysterically. Lou couldn’t hear them; Freddie’s laughter and their warning shouts were drowned by the engines, carousel music and spectators. The frustrating scene was like a hideous mime on some great stage. Lou saw the line thrown down and Freddie, like a whippet go for it.

  Why didn’t anyone tell the kid to use the damned mat!

  As Freddie grabbed the line, an arc of static electricity hit him and his body arched. He stiffened and fell backwards, striking his head on the ground where he lay motionless. Lou had seen everything. He was totally distracted.

  Damn, is he dead? Oh, no, please!

  He was jarred back by Irwin’s voice.

  “She’s sinking fast! Dump the last five tons of ballast at Frame 7 and five tons of fuel from Frame 8!”

  Lou hesitated for a second, looking at Irwin, questioning his order.

  Surely not. We can’t dump fuel and water on Freddie!

  “Do it! Right now!” Irwin yelled. Lou came out of his stupor and grabbed the ballast discharge valves. Scott did the same with the fuel dump lever. Freddie lay on his back, eyes wide open, legs spread apart. Water ballast and diesel fuel cascaded over his body, fresh, young face and shiny boots.

  “Pay attention, we’re closing in,” Irwin said.

  “I’m going to the bow to direct the operations,” Scott said, climbing the stairs. “Atherstone, you come back down to the control car.”

  Docking and locking onto the tower took another hour, due to Scott’s continued meddling. Lou watched the ground-crew foreman yelling at his men to get away from Freddie and attend to lines dropped from the ship.

  On the promenade deck, Thomson was oblivious to the calamity below, but suspected the docking operation wasn't going well. He calmly addressed the Royal Airship Works staff standing stiffly before him, while the ship lurched and bumped against the tower. They looked uncertainly at Thomson in the surreal lighting emanating from the fairground.

  “I want to congratulate you, Colmore, and your staff, for the successful culmination of all your years of hard work. This has been a great day. This is the beginning of a new era in British aviation …”

  From the control car, Lou watched an ambulance draw up alongside the airship. Freddie’s body, draped with a sheet, was placed on a stretcher, carried to the ambulance and loaded into the back. Lou winced as the ambulance men slammed the doors, guilty that he’d got Freddie the job in the ground crew. This was bizarre. He couldn’t understand it. And how the hell was he going to break the news to Charlotte?

  The ship was locked onto the tower just after 6 o’clock. The throbbing engines were shut down and the sounds of shouting and confusion grew faint, allowing the carousel organ and screams from the rides to wash over the field. Lou and the other officers went ashore where Thomson was already speaking to the press, surrounded by R.A.W. personnel. As soon as the elevator doors had slid open, flashbulbs had popped. Thomson was delighted the journalists had turned up on schedule.

  “How was your flight, Lord Thomson?” a reporter called.

  “I must say, I’ve rarely had a more pleasant experience than I’ve had today—with a feeling of safety and well-being. We’ve all been comfortable and dined like kings amid luxurious surroundings. I spent some hours working in peaceful seclusion. This has been a wonderful day, gentlemen. The views from the ship have been magnificent. We even watched a fox hunt—and what a colorful sight that was!”

  “Do you look forward to going on a voyage soon, sir?”

  “I’m hoping to make the trip to India during the Christmas recess and that, I can tell you, will be a welcome interlude, where one can relax and read, or work with the comforts of an ocean liner.”

  “You said Christmas, sir? Did you mean this coming Christmas? That’s less than three months away.”

  “Look, there are more trials to be done and all sorts of tests. I refuse to put any pressure on our Cardington team. I want to make one thing perfectly clear. As I said in 1924 when I introduced the program, no long distance flights will be undertaken until the staff is ready and testing is complete. I said then: ‘Safety first and safety second, as well.’ We shall live and die by that policy. Good night, gentlemen.”

  An unknown reporter shouted from the back of the group.

  “Sir, are you aware that a young ground crewman died this evening?”

  Thomson’s pleasant mood was shattered. This would put a damper on the weekend newspaper stories. He looked round helplessly at his people.

  Damn, why didn’t someone tell me!

  They shuffled around in embarrassment.

  “What happened?”

  “We believe he was electrocuted, sir.”

  “My goodness. Er, …this is the first I’ve heard of it. I’m deeply saddened. My condolences and my prayers go out to the young man’s family.”

  Lou watched Thomson walk to the car, his pain evident. It all seemed such a shame after what had appeared to be a good day—except for Irwin’s reservations (also unknown to Thomson, as yet). Thomson climbed into the car and the door was slammed shut. Everyone dispersed.

  Lou went home. Behind him, the carousel music played on, the girls on the Ferris wheel squealed with delight and the hideous clown threw back its head and laughed hysterically.

  47

  BLACK TUESDAY

  October 29, 1929.

  Freddie was buried in St. Mary’s graveyard on October 29—a day of misery that became known around the worl
d as ‘Black Tuesday.’ The American stock market crashed almost as soon as Wall Street opened and panic ran its course. There were stories that afternoon of people throwing themselves out of high-rise windows in New York.

  Burial had been delayed due to the requirement of an autopsy—Freddie’s death occurring in unusual circumstances, they said. Attendees were not concerned with world finance, but it added to the mood of despair; their focus was on Freddie’s poor family. The funeral was heavily attended with crewmen, officers and their wives present. Freddie’s grave had been dug at the back of the cemetery, farthest from the road, almost in the shadow of Shed No.1. The higher echelon of the R.A.W. didn’t attend, in case the program garnered too much adverse publicity. Billy stood in the drizzle with Lou and Charlotte, still badly shaken. The boys had become inseparable. Billy, though traumatized, decided to remain at Freddie’s home for the time being, since his presence gave the family some comfort.

  Lou had entered the house around 7 o’clock the evening Freddie died. He walked into the living room, his face ashen. Charlotte looked up from her sewing and knew instinctively something was seriously wrong. She jumped to her feet.

  “Lou. What’s the matter?”

  “Freddie.”

  “What’s happened to him?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Oh, my God, no!” she sobbed. “What happened?” Her voice trailed off in despair.

  “He ran and grabbed the mooring line and fell down dead.”

  “No!” Charlotte sank back onto the couch again, screwing up her face.

  “It made no sense. None of us could understand it. I feel terrible.”

  “Damn these airships!”

  “Joe Binks told me later Freddie had a weak heart.”

  “Damn these rotten, bloody airships!”

  “He should never have been in that crew. That family kept his condition from us.”

  “That ship is cursed!”

  “If I’d known, I swear he’d never have been on that field.”

  “And this city is cursed.”

  “Charlotte, please don’t.”

  “And now we’re cursed, too …Don’t you see that, Lou?” she said, as though entranced.

  “It was just unfortunate—nothing to do with the airship.”

  “Just unfortunate! The boy’s dead! He was here with us in this room only last week. Poor Freddie …oh, that poor boy, he was just a child. I loved him so much.” She was inconsolable and floods of tears flowed down her cheeks. Lou felt wretched and powerless. Freddie had become like her own child.

  “You came in the door with that same look on your face when Josh died. How many more times do I have to see it? I can’t take this anymore!”

  Lou sat beside her and put his arm around her. “Charlotte, Freddie had a bad heart, my darling.”

  “What about Billy? He’ll be next. I shouldn’t have allowed you to bring him into this dreadful business. That ship is cursed!”

  “It’s not cursed.”

  “Oh, it’s cursed all right. They’re all cursed!” Charlotte sneered. Everything was crystal clear now. Only hell lay ahead. She stopped crying, wiped the tears and stared out the window into the darkness. After a few moments, she got up, left the room and went upstairs.

  Charlotte took to her bed, where she stayed for three days, unable to return to work. The morning of the funeral she put on the black frock Freddie had admired at the party and a black, heavy topcoat with a matching hat, lent by Mrs. Jones. It was cold and windy at the grave site. She was chilled to the marrow and practically catatonic. Freddie’s father told her they’d dressed him to look nice in the clothes she’d bought him, including the boots. He thanked her for being kind to him.

  The following week, ill and deathly white—accentuated by her black mourning garb—Charlotte trudged to Putroe Lane in the rain and knocked on the Irwins' door.

  “Olivia, may I come in?”

  Olivia held out her arms and hugged Charlotte. “Oh, Charlotte, you poor dear. Come in and sit down by the fire. Give me your wet things.”

  Charlotte took off her coat and headscarf. Olivia hung them over a chair to dry by the fire. “Here, sit and warm yourself. I’m going to make you some coffee,” Olivia said.

  While Olivia was in the kitchen, Charlotte sat staring into the flaming coals. Soon, Olivia reentered the room with a tray of coffee and homemade cake.

  “I needed someone to talk to,” Charlotte said.

  “I’m glad you came.”

  “I’ve been so miserable.”

  “Poor, wee Freddie. Everybody’s sick about it.”

  “I'm so worried, not just for Lou—but there’s Billy, my best friend’s boy—and everyone else. We’ve got to know everybody here now.”

  “You’re worried about the airships?”

  “Yes, of course, aren’t you?” Charlotte asked, in disbelief.

  “Freddie’s death wasn’t due to the airship. Bird said Scott made a balls-up of the mooring, but none of that had anything to do with the poor, wee lad’s death.”

  “People said he’d been electrocuted,” Charlotte said.

  “Bird told me there’s always a kick of static electricity, but not enough to kill anyone. They’re trained to stand on a rubber mat when they take hold of the line so they don’t feel it. Freddie had a weak heart. They did an autopsy. Chasing after the line must have killed him. He wasn’t even supposed to touch the line—it wasn’t his job. They said he bashed his head when he fell down, too. Someone even said he broke his neck.”

  Charlotte wasn’t listening. “I don’t think these airships will ever be safe, Olivia.”

  “I’m sure they will, dear gel.”

  “How do we know that?”

  “Bird isn’t satisfied, but he thinks they’ll get the problems sorted out, eventually.”

  “Eventually! A man was on the radio this week talking about an article in the Aeroplane magazine saying these airships are experimental and we must expect many more disasters.”

  “There’re always going to be naysayers forecasting doom and gloom, pet. We must look on the bright side. We’re officer’s wives. We’ve got to give them our support.”

  “Yes, I know, but …”

  “You seemed so happy at the party. Then you went to see the gypsy, didn’t you?” Charlotte looked sheepish. “What did she tell you?”

  “She didn’t say, exactly.”

  “But she’s upset you, hasn’t she?”

  “I suppose she has. She gave me a bad feeling about the airship—as if she knew something. She kept talking about ‘their big game’ and said there’ll be no winners—only losers.”

  “She gave you the impression something bad would happen?”

  “Yes. Perhaps it’s already happened with Freddie dying—or maybe this is only the beginning. … Oh, Olivia, I don’t know. …”

  “She’s told you nothing really, has she? Now you’re worrying yourself to death.”

  “That’s not all. She told me I would have a baby … one day.”

  “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

  “In a way, yes, I suppose. She gave me the impression this would be after my life had changed …after huge things happening …after all the things making me miserable were resolved …the decks cleared …when all things unspoken were spoken …when I’m free …I will become whole again …and only then, will I conceive.” Charlotte shook her head from side to side. “I don’t know how any of that can happen …there’re just too many things! …I’m at my wit’s end.”

  Olivia, although obviously burning with curiosity, didn’t press it, lest she upset Charlotte further. “My poor, wee bairn. You need to get away for a rest. Couldn’t you go to your mum’s place for a while?”

  “I thought about that. Lou even suggested it. He’s going to be away a lot doing tests.”

  “Then you must go. I’ll come with you to the station. They already know you’re sick at the hospital. You need rest. You’re drained.”
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br />   48

  OVER YORKSHIRE

  November 1929.

  Two days later, Olivia put Charlotte on the train to Wakefield, where she made the connection to Ackworth. While she recuperated at her parents’ home, Lou took part in test flights aboard Cardington R101. The weather was perfect for these tests and, although pleasant, not useful for testing her durability.

  The engines proved troublesome on two trips, but not as troublesome as Scott during docking operations. His ham-fisted interference created havoc, causing them to run into or over the tower several times. On a couple of occasions, he dropped ballast without Irwin knowing, sending the bow shooting upward. The officers grew sick and tired of him and by the end of the fourth test, were showing signs of strain. Any one of these botched attempts at docking could have easily resulted in the loss of the airship and everyone on board.

  The Air Ministry also caused unnecessary stress by insisting they take government officials, MPs and civilian VIP’s for pleasure trips around the countryside. These flights were intended to give the public the impression that the Cardington airship was ‘as safe as houses’—a phrase bureaucrats liked to bandy about. Once, they carried forty-four crew and forty passengers, plus the additional weight of a wet cover from the previous night’s rain. This broke all records for being the largest number of people ever carried in the air, a fact proudly reported in the newspapers the next day. During the flight, Cardington R101 flopped around the vicinity, barely able to stay afloat. Lou credited Irwin’s flying skill and good luck for their safe return. Its confidence bolstered, the Air Ministry decided to go ahead with Thomson’s plan to take a hundred MPs on a ‘demonstration flight,’ scheduling it for November 16th.

  Ten members of Parliament on board for one of these joy rides had a serious scare one afternoon. No one knew the lift and trim equipment at the mast was out of adjustment. After casting off, the bow shot skyward at twenty-five degrees, and VIPs seated in the dining room ended up with their lunch in their laps. The sound of breaking crockery frightened them out of their wits.