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

by David Dennington

  Thomson was disappointed, but perhaps a triumphant return aboard Cardington R101 would seal things. When they reached the exit doors, they kissed cheeks and said their goodbyes. He led Marthe to the curb, Buck opened the car door and Marthe slipped into the backseat. They exchanged waves and smiles through the window as Big Ben was striking six, Thomson watched her driven away. The car turned onto Parliament Square and disappeared on Victoria Street. He put on his hat and walked back toward Westminster Hall.

  As Thomson and Marthe were saying their farewells, Lou was checking progress at the tower for Howden R100’s departure next morning. The area around the tower swarmed with ground crewmen pumping gas, water, petrol and carrying provisions on board. Since the ship had behaved flawlessly, no repairs were required.

  Lou spoke with Capt. Booth and First Officer Meager who told him to go home and be with his wife—‘everything was under control.’ Norway confirmed the same thing, saying he planned to stay on the ship all day and through the night until departure. He sent his love to Charlotte. Lou went to bid farewell to Irwin and Atherstone in Shed No.1 and find out if there were any new developments on their front. Lou entered the shed as a commotion started.

  The works foreman stood in the corner yelling. “All right, you lot.” The men shuffled toward him. “Okay, boys, it’s time to cut the lady in half.”

  “Oooo-bloody-ray!”

  “It’s about bleedin’ time!”

  “Been standin’ around ’ere for weeks waitin’.”

  “Bunch o’ wankers!”

  Lou normally would’ve smiled, but morale and discipline had slipped steadily over the past few weeks—not so much with the Howden group, but it was out in the open in Shed No.1. They were looking in his direction.

  “Not this bloke. He ain’t a wanker,” one said.

  “What? The commander? No, he’s all right.”

  “This bunch ’ere don’t know if they’re comin’ or goin’ half the bloody time.”

  Hundreds of men gathered equipment and wheeled scaffold into position, ready to break the ship at its center. Utilities and controls inside the airship would need to be detached, lengthened and reconnected on completion—itself, a daunting task. Workmen climbed aboard to get started. Other crews were getting ready to detach the exterior cover.

  Lou knocked on Irwin’s door and went in. Irwin appeared gaunt. Atherstone sat behind a dilapidated desk in the corner. He looked just as weary. Irwin stood at a high table reviewing drawings for the modifications.

  “Looks like something’s happening out there, sir,” Lou said.

  “They just got word,” Irwin replied.

  “They’ve been hanging around for weeks without pay,” Atherstone said.

  “At least someone made a decision,” Lou said.

  “Now it’s gonna be rush, rush, rush,” Irwin grumbled.

  “There’ll be plenty of overtime,” Lou said.

  “For them, it’s feast or famine,” Atherstone said.

  “I want to make sure this ship gets tested properly when they’re done,” Irwin said. “I heard your test went well, Lou?”

  Lou nodded.

  Irwin stuck out his hand. “Charlotte okay?”

  Lou pursed his lips and waggled his head from side to side. “Not really.”

  “I’ll make sure Olivia keeps in touch with her. Lou, have a safe flight.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Good luck, Lou,” Atherstone said.

  Lou returned to the shed floor, running into Ronnie the works foreman and McWade.

  “They’re happy now, aren’t they?” Lou said.

  “This lot’s never ’appy.”

  “At least they’re back to work.”

  The foreman shook Lou’s hand. “Best of luck, sir.”

  “Thanks, Ronnie.”

  “You’ll be all right,” Ronnie whispered.

  “You’re still coming right, Fred?” Lou asked.

  “I suppose I am,” McWade answered.

  As Lou was leaving, Potter, Binks, Church and Disley gathered round him. They shook his hand, wishing him a safe journey. Cameron arrived, out of breath.

  “What’s up, Doug?” Lou asked.

  “I’ve just been told I’m going to Canada.”

  “You lucky devil! What happened?” Binks asked.

  “Their coxswain’s gone down with mumps.”

  “Well, don’t look so bloody miserable, mate,” Church said.

  “It’s money in yer pocket, ain’t it?” Binks said.

  Lou glanced at Cameron, understanding his dilemma. He hurried home to Charlotte.

  The day was hot. Lou sat outside on one of the deck chairs he’d bought the previous summer. Fluffy lay lazily in the shade beside him. Charlotte brought out corned beef sandwiches and a beer for Lou. They sat listening to the insects buzzing around Charlotte’s flowers, conversation impossible.

  Later, Mr. and Mrs. Jones popped their heads over the garden fence and spent a few minutes wishing Lou a safe voyage. Sensing tension, they didn’t linger. When they’d gone, Lou and Charlotte resumed their awkward silence. In the end, they went to the living room on the second floor and Lou read the newspaper. Fluffy followed and sat on the couch beside him. After twenty minutes Charlotte went to the kitchen to prepare dinner, peeling potatoes and carrots. When Charlotte had left the room, Lou rested his head back while he stroked Fluffy.

  “You want to come for a ride in an airship, Fluff? The cat mewed softly, jumped down, and went out. “No, I don’t suppose you do—sorry puss, I forgot,” he said.

  This was all too painful. Lou wished he was on the airship over the Atlantic—anywhere but here right now. That wasn’t fair. He knew how Charlotte would feel as he drove off on his motorbike in the morning.

  She’ll be damned lonesome.

  They ate dinner and went to bed early. Charlotte did something she hadn’t done for a long time. She lit the candle on her bedside table. He made love to her. She wasn’t responsive, nor was she cold, just preoccupied—in some other place. She let him do whatever he wanted. He took pleasure in re-exploring every curve of her beautiful body. How long had it been? Weeks—perhaps months. He couldn’t remember. After an hour, he cradled her in his arms until it was time to leave. He got up and washed and put on his uniform. He went downstairs and left his kit bag by the door. Before going back upstairs, he took the framed photograph of Charlotte from the mantelpiece in the living room, wrapped it in a shirt, and slipped it into his kitbag. He searched for Fluffy, but she was nowhere to be found. He opened the back door. She wasn’t there.

  Charlotte got up and put on a long, white, silk nightdress and came to him at the center of the bedroom. She stared at him and put her arms around his neck. She kissed his lips slowly and deliberately, seeming to savor the moment. He held her and took a handful of her hair, running it through his fingers at her back. She gazed at him with those huge, blue eyes, as if for the last time. He sensed she believed she’d never see him again.

  God, you’re so beautiful!

  “Oh God, I love your hair,” he said softly.

  “Make the most of it,” she whispered.

  “I am coming back, you know—I promise you.”

  Doubt showed in her eyes.

  “Better go,” he said, letting go of her.

  She slowly removed her arms and followed him down to the door. They embraced and kissed again on the recessed front porch.

  “See you in about three weeks, honey,” he said. “I love you.”

  Her voice was barely audible. “Goodbye, Lou.”

  He descended the steps to his motorbike, fastened his kit bag on the luggage rack and kicked it over. He climbed on and turned to Charlotte standing in the doorway, her long, white nightdress backlit by the overhead light. She looked like an apparition of a Greek goddess, her flowing, black hair shining in the moonlight. He felt sick leaving her now, and guilty. He wished he could stay another hour, or just not leave at all. He bowed his head to her an
d waved. She didn’t move or make any gesture. Like a statue. He drove away believing he could never feel more miserable than this. But he was wrong.

  PART EIGHT

  CANADA

  61

  LIVERPOOL

  Tuesday July 29, 1930.

  Lou arrived at the Cardington tower at around 2:00 a.m. The place was a hive of activity; gear, mechanical parts, gas valves, fuel tanks and ballast tanks had to checked and rechecked. Ground crewmen carried luggage and last- minute items aboard while the gas bags were given a final top up. A crowd of two thousand spectators watched the floodlit ship from the fence. Lou’s mood lifted. Next to their black Austin, Meager kissed his wife and small son goodbye. Mrs. Meager laid the child on the back seat and got in, blowing a kiss as she drove away.

  Lou noticed Jessup assisting the ground crew, carrying boxes of provisions to the elevator. He gave Lou a hateful glance over his shoulder. Lou climbed off his motorbike as Binks came up.

  “What’s he doing over there?” Lou asked, nodding toward Jessup.

  “He’s working with the ground crew.”

  Lou was puzzled, but said nothing.

  “Shall I take care of the bike, sir?” Binks asked.

  “That’d be nice of you, Joe, thanks. Leave it over by the admin office. Oh, I’ve another favor to ask.” Lou pulled out a brown envelope from his kit bag containing a flat box. “Would you mind putting this in the postbox next Monday? It’s a birthday card for Charlotte. Her birthday’s on the sixth of August. I’d like it to arrive the day before.”

  Binks tucked the envelope inside his coat.

  “I’ll do that with pleasure.”

  “Thanks, Joe.”

  “I wish I was coming with you, sir.”

  “Won’t be long now. We’ll all be off to India in your ship soon.”

  Binks climbed on the Brough Superior. “Good luck. I’ll be right here with your bike when you get back, sir,” he said.

  Lou headed toward the customs shed for clearance before boarding. Colmore got out of the Works' Humber in front of the building, dressed in a sports coat, collar and tie. He’d had his hair cut for the trip—an extreme short back and sides. His face had a grey pallor, matching his jacket. He looked sick with fright.

  Lou went over to him. “Is everything all right, sir?”

  Colmore raised a trembling hand, wiped his forehead and grunted. Lou put his kitbag over his shoulder and took Colmore’s small suitcase from the driver and walked with him. Inside, crewmen and a few civilians were being checked for prohibited items. On the wall was a notice with red lettering:

  ABSOLUTELY NO MATCHES OR LIGHTERS ALLOWED

  WEIGHT RESTRICTIONS:

  Passengers and Officers 30 lbs

  Crewmen 15 lbs

  Lou stood at Colmore’s side. When asked questions, Colmore answered in monosyllables. Scott appeared behind them, tapping Colmore on the shoulder. Colmore’s face brightened slightly and he let out a deep sigh.

  “I came down to get you, Reggie. You’ll be all right. It’ll be a lovely trip, you’ll see. The views along the St. Lawrence will be spectacular,” Scott said.

  Lou emptied his kitbag for the customs officer and was surprised to find a black leather writing case at the bottom. Charlotte must have put it in there. After clearance, he walked with Colmore and Scott to the tower elevator.

  “Coming?” Scott asked.

  “No, I’ll take the stairs, sir,” Lou answered.

  Lou was glad to get away to his assigned cabin in the officers' section. He hated to see men of high rank paralyzed with fright—he’d seen plenty during the war. The passenger section accommodated one hundred, with eighteen four-berth cabins on the upper level and fourteen two-berth on the lower level. Cabins were situated above the crew’s quarters over the control car. The officers' cabins were grouped together—small but comfortable, measuring seven feet by eight, with paper-thin, beige, fabric walls.

  Lou’s narrow bed, tight to the wall, consisted of stretched canvas over aluminum framing and beside the bed, a writing table against the head wall—both immovable. On the bed was a ‘teddy’ and a Sidcot flying suit with a fur collar, neatly folded beside them, a sleeping bag, a blanket and a sheet.

  A curtain concealed a small closet in the corner with two shelves. Lou removed the framed photograph of Charlotte from his kit bag. He’d taken the picture in Switzerland at Christmas: she posed beside a snow-laden fir tree wearing her ski outfit and a big smile. He studied her suntanned face. She’d been happy on that trip. He carefully placed the frame on the bedside table next to his binoculars. He emptied his kitbag on the bed and picked up the writing case. He flipped it open. Inside he found a leather-bound diary embossed with gold lettering and a pad of fine, white writing paper, together with a pen, but no inscription or note. Charlotte must have wanted him to keep a journal.

  A nice going-away present. Good girl. Great idea!

  He placed it on the writing table with Great Expectations beside her photograph. He suddenly had a horrible sinking feeling. Those old feelings of panic and depression swept over him. She was his rock. He didn’t want to leave.

  Damn, I miss her already.

  Lou took the shirts and hung them in the closet with his work clothes and stowed his socks and pants on the shelves below. He heard a nervous cough outside and then that familiar voice, “Hello, Lou?”

  “That’s me.”

  Lou opened the curtain. Norway stood there grinning, his unlit pipe clamped between his teeth.

  “All set?” he inquired.

  “I guess.”

  Norway showed Lou where he was berthed. Burney was in the next cabin. He came out and shook hands with Lou.

  “You still want to do this, Sir Dennis?” Lou said.

  Burney didn’t say much—perhaps he’d got the jitters now, too, Lou thought. Along the corridor, Scott stood at Colmore’s door. Hopefully, Colmore was feeling better. When Scott saw Norway’s pipe, he charged down the corridor and gave him a shove.

  “Get rid of that damned thing!” he yelled.

  “It’s not lit,” Norway protested.

  “I don’t care, just get rid of it!” Scott grunted.

  Norway put the pipe in his inside pocket and wandered back inside his cabin.

  “He’s right, Nev, you’ll scare everyone to death,” Lou called after him.

  Scott took Colmore’s arm. “Come on, Reggie. Let’s go and get some coffee in the dining room, shall we?” he said.

  There were half a dozen passengers in and out of their cabins, getting settled in along the corridor, including R.A.W. officials. Inside some berths, people snored, a few having come aboard early and retired. After chatting for a few minutes, Lou made his way to the control car, passing McWade, whose face was like a mask. Since McWade had received the letter from the Ministry, neither of them had mentioned his late-night visit again. Lou was sure he was frustrated and highly embarrassed. Lou reached the wireless room above the control car and poked his head in on Disley, who glanced up.

  “Evening, sir.”

  “How you doing, Dizzy?” Lou said.

  The meteorologist’s room was next door and occupied by Mr. Giblett, whom Lou had met at Cardington House a few times. Giblett was working on weather maps and data. Lou descended into the spacious control car incorporating the chartroom, passing Johnston, busy with his charts. Capt. Booth and Capt. Meager stood nursing mugs of coffee, waiting for the last passengers to arrive. The two coxswains were stationed at their wheels.

  Lou smiled at the officers. “Good morning, Captain,” he said, nodding.

  “Morning, Lou. I’ll take the first watch until 6:00 a.m. We’ll rotate in four-hour stints throughout the voyage. We’ve got a lot of experienced officers on board. We can split some of these watches up.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Giblett entered the control car holding up a sheet of paper. “I’ve just finished the weather chart. As I said earlier, a small depression is centered ove
r the north of Ireland. If we work our way around to the north, we’ll pick up a favoring wind that’ll push us west.”

  “Excellent! Exactly what we need,” Booth said.

  “That won’t last, but I’m working on another system over the Atlantic, which might come in handy.”

  “Keep us posted.” Booth turned to Lou. “Ask the chief coxswain to let us know when everyone’s aboard. We’re ready to cast off.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Lou said.

  On his way to the stairs Johnston looked up. “Hey, Lou.”

  “This is the India flight, right?” Lou said.

  “Oh, non, non, non. You’re on der wrong sheep,” Johnston said, chuckling. “Dis sheep is for Montreal, French Canada!”

  Lou headed to the central corridor and found the chief coxswain, who reported they were still waiting for one R.A.W. official. All first watch crewmembers were at their stations. Second Officer Steff was in the main corridor with a crew of riggers ready to set the gas bags on take-off. As the ship ascended, the gas would expand and bags would need careful repositioning to prevent damage to them. The rest of the crew sat in their quarters drinking coffee, or slept in their bunks. Lou returned to the control car and relayed the information to Booth.

  “We’ll give that man ten minutes,” Booth said.

  They stood around waiting until the chief coxswain called down.

  “Everyone’s aboard, sir, save the one. Thirty-eight crewmen and six passengers present and accounted for. Crewmen are at their stations awaiting orders!”

  “Then we shall wait no longer. Start engines and pull up the gangplank,” Booth ordered.

  Lou wondered what had happened to the R.A.W. guy. Perhaps he’d got cold feet. He remembered his engineer Wiggins who missed R38 when his car broke down.

  That was Wiggins' lucky day! Is this the ‘Wiggy thing’ all over again?

  Engines were started and in no time they’d slipped the mast. In the half darkness, the ship floated upwards. Booth gave instructions for ballast to be dumped at the stern to bring the tail up. There was just enough light to make out the fields and the roads below. They heard cheers from the ground crewmen on the tower and on the field through the open windows. The ship turned slowly and cruised very low across the front of Shed No.1, while Cardington R101 crewmen and construction workers stood at the doors shaking their fists at them.