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

by David Dennington

  “A very wise decision, if I may say so, Ramsay.”

  Thomson said nothing.

  “And you’ll visit him there, Marthe?”

  “Indeed, I shall. What an adventure that’ll be! Oh, how I long to visit the Taj Mahal.”

  “A testament to Shah Jahan’s love of his wife, Mumtaz Mahal, who died in childbirth,” MacDonald said. Marthe stared at MacDonald, amazed at his knowledge. Thomson remained silent, deep in thought.

  My love for Marthe is as strong as Shah Jahan’s. And someday I shall prove it.

  MacDonald resumed. “Good. Good. I know you love to travel Marthe.”

  “She does, she’s Romanian!” Thomson said, himself beaming now.

  MacDonald chuckled. “You’re saying because she’s a gypsy. How romantic. Bring on the violins!” He rapidly became somber again. “I shall also visit when I can. He’s my wisest and most trusted friend. I’ll miss him sorely.”

  Thomson perked up. “Don’t look so down, Ramsay. We’ll have a regularly scheduled airship service to India by then. You’ll be able to travel in comfort.”

  “Perhaps one day we shall all visit the Taj together,” Marthe said.

  “Splendid! That’s all settled, then. I propose we have a spot of tea on the terrace in the sunshine, followed by a game of croquet,” MacDonald said.

  “Wonderful idea,” Thomson said. They turned back to the house.

  Brancker had called for more tea and was pouring them another cup.

  “Now there’s another little wrinkle. If we can delay parting Cardington R101 and thereby throw Lord Thomson off his schedule with the Prime Minister’s Conference thing, he may let it slide and not care if we postpone her voyage to India till next year. That’d give us time to test these ships and do things right. So, the tactic is for us to hold off parting that ship on the pretext we’re holding it in reserve for the Canadian trip. Bear in mind, Howden R100 has yet to do another twenty-four-hour test since her tail was rebuilt. You never know—she might fail, especially if they have any more trouble with the cover.”

  “That’s unlikely, sir,” Irwin said.

  “I’m waiting for the official word to begin work on the extra bay,” Colmore said.

  “I know you are. Don’t do anything until you are expressly ordered to. I have someone working with us on delaying that. Unfortunately, the bean counters are with Thomson—they want results, and they want them now.”

  “It’ll be tough, but we’ll delay things if we can,” Colmore said.

  Brancker smoothed out his mustache with his thumb and forefinger, narrowing his eyes. “Delay! Delay! Delay! It’d be easier if we could get Howden to postpone. That’s the goal. It’d take pressure off Cardington to make the India voyage.” He looked at Lou. “This is where you come in, Commander. I’d like you to reach out on behalf of your boss, Wing Commander Colmore here—unofficially—and request they do the right thing.”

  “You want me to ask them to postpone their flight, sir?” Lou asked.

  “Exactly! I know you have a wonderful relationship with Howden. You’re a godsend! I want you to set up a meeting as soon as you can.”

  “I’ll be glad to try, sir, but I know Mr. Burney is anxious to fly to Canada immediately,” Lou said.

  “No more ‘Mr. Burney’!” Brancker exclaimed. All eyes widened. Lou wondered if Burney had been sacked. “He’s Sir Dennis now—he’s just been knighted,” Brancker said, laughing. They all rolled their eyes. “Anyway, arrange a meeting as quickly as possible and see if you can pull it off—and don’t forget to call him Sir Dennis!” Brancker said.

  “I won’t forget, Sir Sefton,” Lou said.

  “You’re going to need to appeal to his better side. I’m sure he must have one. You know: ‘We’re all in this together, old man’ and all that. If none of that works, try telling him that new designs for bigger and better ships are on the boards and Vickers will be expected to play their part. Tell them Brancker very much wants Vickers’s involvement. For now, we seek their cooperation, their patience and their understanding. We’re all airshipmen and we’re all gentlemen and we’ll return the favor and look out for them in the future—tell Burney he has Brancker’s word—the word of one knight to another.”

  They all stood up, preparing to leave.

  “One last thing,” Brancker said. “It’s important testing is carried out thoroughly—not cut short for any reason whatsoever. Be firm. Stick to your guns!”

  Lou was dazzled by Brancker’s brilliance. But would any of it work? He decided to try and track down Burney as soon as they got back to Cardington.

  Nevil will give me his home number.

  Tea was served on the Lavender Terrace. They sat round a wooden garden table under an umbrella. Clouds were rolling in and it was getting muggy. MacDonald took off his sweater. After tea, they played croquet until a cloudburst soaked them. They dashed back to the terrace, giggling like college chums.

  Later, while MacDonald spent time at his desk in his study, Thomson took Marthe on a guided tour. They went to each room, inspecting the furnishings and paintings. She was especially taken by the oak Regency pedestal table used by Napoleon and with Nelson’s watch in a display case. A ring belonging to the great Queen Elizabeth filled her with wonder. Cromwell’s death mask she hated on sight—he’d been responsible for the death of so many good Irish people. But the library filled her with joy. As a highly acclaimed writer, she was able to appreciate the first illustrated edition of Milton’s Paradise Lost printed in 1688. To hold such ancient books in her hands gave her a special thrill.

  57

  CHEQUERS & A MEETING WITH BURNEY & CO.

  Saturday July 5 - Sunday July 13, 1930.

  As soon as Lou got back to Cardington, he tried calling Norway in York, but got no answer. After an hour, he gave up and went home. He would’ve preferred to make this call without Charlotte around. On arrival, he found her coming in with some shopping. She didn’t look happy. Her mood was always sour these days. After kissing her, Lou used the phone on the small table in the living room. Norway answered.

  “Nev, where the hell’ve you been? I’ve been calling you for the last two hours.”

  “I just got home from the flying club. What do you need, old man?”

  “I need Burney’s number.”

  “What for?”

  “I want to talk to him.”

  “What about?”

  “Nev, I can’t say right now. I’ll tell you later.”

  “Keeping secrets, eh? I can guess … Here it is …”

  Lou wrote down the number as Charlotte entered the room. “Thanks, Nev. Look, I’ll speak to you later. Okay?” He hung up the phone.

  “What’s going on?” Charlotte asked.

  “I’ve been asked to talk to Burney and get him to postpone their flight.”

  Charlotte said nothing. Lou knew she understood exactly what was going on. He picked up the phone and dialed Burney’s number. A well-spoken woman answered. Charlotte stood at the doorway, listening.

  “May I speak to Sir Dennis, please.”

  “And who may I say is calling Sir Dennis?” she wah-wahed.

  “Commander Remington, ma’am.”

  Lou heard the woman calling, “Darling … a Commander Remington is on the phone.”

  A few moments later, Burney came on. “Lou, this is a surprise. What can I do for you, my dear chap?”

  “Good of you to take my call, Sir Dennis. I have a favor to ask.”

  “Of course, fire away.”

  “I’d like to meet with you. It’s important.”

  “I see. I’m going to the Continent on Monday. I’ll be back in ten days. We can meet then, if you like.”

  “Oh, dear. I’d hoped to see you on Monday.”

  “Well, if it’s that important, I can meet you tomorrow morning in Westminster.”

  “Splendid, sir. Could you have Barnes and Nevil attend?”

  “Don’t see why not. I’ll instruct them to be there.”


  “That’s awfully kind of you,” Lou said, realizing he was lapsing into British jargon.

  “What’s this all about, Lou?”

  “I prefer to tell you tomorrow, if you don’t mind, sir.”

  “All right. 9 o’clock. Sunday morning—Vickers’s office on Broadway.”

  “Thank you, Sir Dennis.”

  Lou put the phone down. Charlotte looked at him and shook her head sadly. She gave a deep sigh, turned and went upstairs to the bedroom. Lou called Norway back, but didn’t say what the meeting was about. He said he’d tell them in the morning.

  That evening, Thomson and Marthe sat down to dinner with MacDonald.

  “What did you do with your friend’s flower?” MacDonald asked.

  “I have it pressed in my journal. I’ll send it to him next week with a letter describing my delightful stay at Chequers with you,” Marthe replied, smiling warmly.

  “Will he approve of you sleeping under the same roof as a couple of ne’er-do-well British politicians?”

  “I’m sure he would. He’s met Kit and loves him to death. Kit took us on a tour of Westminster Palace a couple of years ago.”

  “He’s quite a wit,” Thomson said. “On entering the House of Lords, he said he understood why politics is like a religion to us.”

  “He said that?”

  “He said it’s because we practice our politics in a cathedral!”

  “I’m glad to hear he approves of CB,” MacDonald said. MacDonald’s observation had implications, but Marthe didn’t respond. “What do you think about this proposed flight of CB’s to India in September, Marthe?” MacDonald asked.

  “He feels it’s his destiny. I wish he wasn’t going, but I wouldn’t try to dissuade him.”

  “I must go. It’ll give the troops a boost. Look, when your time’s up—that’s it. I’m a fatalist.”

  “You mean everything’s preordained?” MacDonald asked.

  “I told you about the boy at Cardington, didn’t I?” Thomson said, looking at Marthe.

  “Yes, that was a pity,” she said.

  “No, you didn’t tell me about it,” MacDonald said.

  “Ramsay, I thought you had enough to worry about.”

  “I seem to have heard that before. What happened this time?” MacDonald asked.

  “I met this boy in the ground crew. He stood out. He had this pair of old boots he’d shined like glass. There was something about him. I put my hand on his shoulder and complimented him. He had a beautiful young face—angelic.”

  “So what happened to him?”

  “We went out for many hours—marvelous flight! I had a desk put on board and worked up there in perfect solitude. It took ages for them to land at the mast and when they did, that boy ran and grabbed the mooring line and fell down dead.”

  “My goodness gracious! That’s terrible! What happened?” MacDonald exclaimed.

  “There’s always a burst of static electricity when they throw the line down.”

  “And he didn’t know that?” Marthe asked.

  “Well, everyone thought he’d been electrocuted, but it turned out, he had a weak heart and his great run for the line finished the boy off.”

  MacDonald looked distraught. “That poor, wee laddie.”

  “The point was, at the time, none of us knew anything about it. The press told me. But when they said it, I sensed immediately who it was.”

  “You mean he was marked for death?” MacDonald said.

  “I’m saying—it was his time.”

  “Did he know, do you think?” Marthe asked.

  “Oh no, he was a happy, young fellow. Dead keen! Very sad. I often think about him.”

  MacDonald said nothing for a few moments and then, “Perhaps it was his boots that marked him. God must have said, ‘Bring me the boy with the shiny boots.’ They’d been shined so His angels would know him.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely, Ramsay,” Marthe said. “He’s such a poet, isn’t he Kit?”

  The weekend was spent in a state of contentment, enjoying each other’s company despite the dreary weather; they were three souls in perfect harmony, at one with the universe. In Sunday morning drizzle, they were driven to St. Peter and St. Paul, the old parish church overlooking the tiny village of Ellesborough. They were greeted by the vicar and exchanged respectful nods and smiles with members of the congregation. Although Marthe found the service different, she enjoyed it.

  That Sunday morning, Lou traveled down to London by train, wearing a sports jacket and slacks under his raincoat—this was unofficial business. He arrived at the Vickers offices just before nine. A security man let him in and showed him into an ornately-furnished board room on the ground floor. Soon, Norway came blundering in, out of breath, worried he was late. Wallis arrived a few minutes later, looking fit and relaxed. They made pleasant small talk, reminiscing about the good times at Howden. Punctually at nine, Burney entered the room and after shaking hands, sat at the head of the table.

  Burney glanced at Wallis and Norway. “Sorry to drag you fellows out on a Sunday like this. The Commander called this meeting. Apparently, he has something important he wishes to discuss. Perhaps you’d be good enough to enlighten us, Lou.”

  “Yes, sir. But first I want to congratulate you on your knighthood. Sir Sefton Brancker mentioned it yesterday and sends his congratulations and kind personal regards.” Lou glanced at Wallis who appeared irritated, looking down at his hands on the table. Burney beamed, while Lou continued. “Wing Commander Colmore asked me to make an approach to you, unofficially.”

  “Really? How strange,” Burney said, appearing puzzled, but obviously enjoying this.

  Is he play-acting?

  Wallis and Norway remained expressionless.

  “He’s suggesting both transcontinental voyages be postponed until next year.”

  Wallis was aghast. “On what grounds?”

  “Colmore’s view is that both ships haven’t been sufficiently tested. He thinks they have flaws, making the risks unjustifiable and doesn’t feel comfortable putting men’s lives in danger unnecessarily.”

  “What flaws is he talking about?” Burney asked.

  “The R.A.W. is worried about the outer covers on both ships.”

  “Our cover will be in p-pretty good shape prior to our d-departure,” Norway said.

  “Cardington R101’s cover is also being replaced. The tail collapsing on Howden R100 caused a great deal of concern,” Lou said.

  “That’s been fixed by the Airship Works staff. Nevil will be looking at that on Tuesday when he’s there for the preflight conference. I understand the R.A.W. took it upon themselves to redesign the tail section. So there shouldn’t be anything to worry about, should there?” Wallis said, without hiding his displeasure at their tampering with his design.

  “I think they’d like to see more testing done, just the same,” Lou said.

  “Lou, we all like you, you know that. But I’m going to cut to the chase, as they say in Hollywood.” Burney smiled at his own little joke. “The truth is, it’s they who don’t feel ready, do they?”

  Lou paused. This was the crux of the matter. It was time to go into the ‘old Sir Sefton routine.’ “You’re perfectly correct, Sir Dennis.” Lou stole a glance at Wallis and saw him grimace. “And quite honestly, I think they’d admit that to you. They’re making an appeal to you as fellow airshipmen.”

  Burney lifted his eyebrows. “It’s a bit late for all this old chummy stuff, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is, and that’s regrettable,” Lou said.

  “I told you what was happening ages ago, Lou,” Wallis said.

  “You were right. But do you really have to put the boot in? It couldn’t hurt to be magnanimous, could it, Barnes?” Lou chided him.

  “So let us understand this—they’re asking us to postpone our flight to Canada to allow them time to get their ship into a flyable condition and in the meantime have the world believe Howden R100 is in the same pathetic s
tate,” Wallis said.

  Lou looked kindly at each man around the table in an attempt to appeal to their better sides. “Sir Dennis, Sir Sefton told me that if you do this, Vickers will be well rewarded. He regards Vickers as part of the team—an indispensible part. New designs are on the boards at Cardington for even bigger airships and he says it’s imperative Vickers plays a major role. He asked me to tell you that, and for the moment, he seeks your cooperation, your patience and your understanding. He knows this project has been a loss for Vickers, but he’ll see to it you come out whole at the end of the day. I’ll tell you exactly what he said: ‘We’re all airshipmen and we’re all gentlemen. We will return the favor and we will look out for Vickers in the future.’ He said, ‘Tell Sir Dennis they have Brancker’s word—the word of one knight to another.’”

  Burney seemed impressed. Lou sensed he’d won him over, but Wallis and Norway appeared unmoved. The ‘one knight to another’ part certainly didn’t go down well with Wallis. Norway sat frowning.

  Then Burney’s demeanor changed. “I’m skeptical for one simple reason. Short Brothers used to build airships. They had a nice little business going until the government decided they’d take it,” Burney said.

  “What do you mean, take it?” Lou asked.

  “They nationalized the business and renamed it the ‘Royal Airship Works.’ It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? We could do all the right things, and yes, get more airships rolling out of our sheds, and then—hey, presto!—we’re nationalizing your company! We don’t trust these people. It’s what they do!”

  “Well put, sir,” Norway said.

  “Maybe the next damned socialist who comes along and can’t get himself elected will call himself Lord Karl Marx of Howden!” Burney quipped.

  “I can’t believe it,” Lou said.

  “You’re an American. Things like that could never happen in America,” Norway said.

  “There is another way,” Wallis said. “They own both airships. We’re merely trying to fulfill our contractual obligations. They could instruct us not to fly to Canada—announce a postponement. It’s really as simple as that, Lou!”