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

by David Dennington

  Booth smiled. “Now it’s their turn. And they don’t like it.”

  “Do we bite our thumbs at you, sir? Damn right we do!—I’ve been polishing up on my Shakespeare,” Lou said, smiling at Meager, who laughed.

  Booth ordered more power and the ship ascended to one thousand feet. They turned toward Bedford. Lou was able to make out Kelsey Street and then their house, which was in total darkness. He presumed Charlotte had gone back to bed. He thought about how lovely she’d looked on the front step in the moonlight. Already, he couldn’t wait to get back home to her.

  I’ll make it up to you, I swear.

  After passing over Bedford, Johnston called out the heading for Liverpool and they were soon at fifteen hundred feet and on their way, riding smoothly on three engines at forty-five knots. Lou was tired. He went to his cabin, changed into his work clothes and lay down, covering himself with the sleeping bag and blanket. The ship was eerily quiet, seeming perfectly still—the engines far enough aft of the control car to make them completely silent. Before drifting off, he thought of Charlotte, then R38 and his dead crewmen, and then Josh and Shenandoah. It all seemed so long ago. He slept while the ship cruised across Midland towns toward Liverpool.

  Lou was awakened just before 6:00 a.m. by music from the gramophone in the crew's quarters below. They had the volume low—at least they were being considerate. At first, Lou had no idea where he was. He listened to the music for a few minutes, looking at Charlotte’s photograph on the bedside table. He hoped she was okay and able to sleep.

  Although still tired, he went to the toilet room and washed his face in cold water and brushed his teeth. A steward brought him hot water in a tin can for shaving. The floor of the washroom was covered in brown linoleum and echoed hollow underfoot. There were two small shower stalls with a sign ‘Please Conserve Water’ and in a separate area, two WCs with privacy curtains and an extractor fan in the ceiling. By the smell, they had already been used extensively.

  He looked in on the control car where Meager had just taken over the watch from Booth. They passed over the Roman-Saxon town of Chester. Off to starboard, they saw the smoky haze over Liverpool and turned toward it. The ship flew directly over the impressive, white city hall building and then the sandstone cathedral. As they went over, train whistles, car horns and steamer sirens in the port, wished them well.

  62

  THE IRISH SEA

  Tuesday July 29, 1930.

  They left the English coast at Formby Point at 6:20 a.m. and headed out into the Irish Sea toward the Isle of Man, passing Morcambe Lightship on starboard. Lou decided to stretch his legs before breakfast and climbed to the upper deck.

  From there, he could look down onto the promenade decks, equipped with loungers, wicker seating and matching low tables. He turned and went to the center and leaned on the white railing around the perimeter of the forty by forty foot, two-story dining room below. It was bright and airy with windows allowing plenty of natural light—a departure from previous airship design. This room was the largest space on the ship, seating fifty-six.

  Stewards, in white coats and black trousers, were serving breakfast. The chief steward, Pierre, looked up at Lou and smiled. Lou gave him a nod. He admired the tablecloths and flatware—not as expensive as the other ship’s stuff. Not the Ritz exactly, but not bad—a reasonable restaurant in town, perhaps. The room was busy with a buzz of whispering, punctuated by clattering plates in the galley. The smell of eggs, bacon and coffee wafted up—it all seemed surreal, hovering above the Irish Sea like this.

  He returned to the control car as they entered a heavy rain shower and flew blind for a few long moments. When they came out, a mountain on an island appeared dead ahead.

  “What’s this island, sir?” Lou asked.

  “It’s Isle of Man and that is Sugarloaf Mountain—which I think we should take pains to avoid,” Meager replied. They altered course to fly along the coast of the island toward the point of Ayre Lighthouse and Scotland beyond. The green hills of the Lake District lay to starboard.

  “I’m going for breakfast. Do you need anything?” Lou asked.

  “Johnny and Steff are relieving me at eight. I’ll join you then,

  thanks.”

  Lou went to the dining room where Colmore sat with Scott and Sqn. Ldr. Archie Wann and a couple of R.A.W. officials. Colmore looked more relaxed. McWade sat at a table with Giblett the meteorologist. Lou nodded to McWade and went over to Wann, who got up from the table to greet him. Lou hadn’t seen him to speak to since leaving him in the control car on R38 just before it broke in two and fell from the sky. Lou had been down to visit Wann in the intensive care ward just before he left the hospital, but Wann was swathed in bandages, unconscious. He was surprised how much Wann had aged, his hair now pretty grey. They shook hands while everyone looked on, understanding their connection. It was a touching moment. Neither man spoke. Lou left Wann and went and found an empty table. They’d talk later.

  Lou felt drained due to lack of sleep and worry about Charlotte. It’d been a wrench leaving her. He’d burdened himself with all her emotions and added them to his own. It felt like a hangover. Norway entered the dining room as Lou was finishing breakfast. He was smiling and pretty jazzed.

  “You’re looking mighty pleased with yourself there, buddy,” Lou said.

  “I just s-saw the lighthouse at P-Point Ayre. It’s b-blowing a gale out there.”

  The steward came to take Norway’s order.

  “I’ll have c-coffee and the f-full English breakfast and t-toast p-please,” Norway said. “And yes, I’m very p-pleased with the sh-ship.”

  Meager appeared and joined them. The steward looked at Meager.

  “I’ll have what he ordered. Sounds good to me,” Meager said.

  “We’ve a long way to go yet. Don’t get too cocky,” Lou cautioned.

  Lou glanced around the room as though appraising it for the first time—for Norway’s benefit. “It looks pretty good, I suppose,” he said.

  “You slept well?” Norway asked.

  “No complaints.”

  “An airship is the best place in the world to fall sleep,” Meager said.

  “What happened to our friend?” Lou asked.

  “Who?” Norway asked.

  “Jessup. I saw him at the tower, but I haven’t seen him since.”

  “He got the b-boot.”

  “Who by?”

  “Captain Booth.”

  “Why?”

  “Someone told him Jessup was a b-bad lot,” Norway said.

  “Who told him that?”

  “Me.” Norway grinned.

  “You!”

  “Yes. I didn’t want to d-deal with that n-nut. We’ve got enough to worry about.”

  “We can do without that,” Meager agreed.

  “Who broke the news to Jessup?” Lou asked.

  “Sky Hunt. He said he was p-pretty annoyed.”

  “He’ll blame me for it. Not that I care,” Lou said.

  The steward arrived with a plate of eggs and bacon in each hand. Norway and Meager began eating.

  “I’m starving,” Meager said. “I’m going to take a look on top later. You might as well come with me, Lou.”

  “I’ve got to pump petrol first. Can we do it after that?”

  “Sure.”

  Norway looked envious. “Should I c-c-come, too?” he said.

  “No, no need,” Meager answered.

  “All right, I’ll take a look round inside then,” Norway said, disappointed.

  After breakfast, Lou went with Norway to transfer petrol with hand pumps to the gravity tanks above the engine cars. They were assisted by Billy, Cameron, Nervous Nick and Disley. Everyone was expected to do his part and Lou thought he might as well get used to it. There’d be plenty of this grunt work to be done if they wanted to reach Canada.

  “I can’t believe you people were too cheap to install a couple of damned electric pumps,” Lou grumbled. “And you didn't put pum
ps in the WC’s either did you? It's gonna get pretty nasty in those rest rooms, mister.”

  Norway grinned his silly horsey grin. “We didn’t have money for luxuries,” he said.

  Later, Lou followed Meager up the cat ladder to the forward hatch on the roof.

  “Keep your eyes open for damage to the cover. If the rain gets in, you know what happens to the gas bags,” Meager said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hold on tight. Let’s go.”

  They climbed out of the envelope onto the twelve-inch-wide reinforced catwalk on the roof, holding onto a bitterly cold, steel cable. The cable stretched over seven-hundred feet from bow to stern, lying alongside the catwalk. The conditions were blustery and cold, and they were surrounded by scattered, swirling clouds.

  “Where are we?” Lou shouted.

  “Over the Mull of Galloway.”

  Lou looked out to the starboard side and saw the rugged terrain of Scotland in the distance.

  “Come on, follow me!” Meager yelled above the howling wind.

  They crawled on their hands and knees up the slope of the never-ending catwalk, making their inspection. Lou thought of Charlotte; if she could see him now, she’d die! He wondered how many airshipmen had been lost doing this. If they were blown away, no one would even know. They’d just be unaccounted for. When they reached halfway, violent squalls peppered them with showers of hail, which felt like razor blades on their faces and hands. It was as if Mother Nature was trying to pry their hands off the cable. By the time they reached the stern, they were soaked through and chilled to the marrow. Neither of them had spotted any damage to the cover or intakes. Meager opened the trap door and they climbed down, their hands so numb it’d become almost impossible to hold on.

  “That was invigorating!” Lou said.

  “Let’s go and dry out,” Meager said.

  They returned to their cabins and changed into their second set of work clothes. Lou put on his teddy, which was aptly named. They took their wet clothes to the cook in the galley for him to dry. Pierre admired Lou’s outfit.

  “Very nice, my dear. Very cuddly, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  Meager roared with laughter. Lou went off to look for Norway and found him amidships.

  “You look sweet,” Norway said.

  “Now don’t you start!”

  “How’s everything on the roof?” Norway asked.

  “Bloody freezing! But everything looked good. No leaks—yet.”

  “I’m going to take a gander at the engines,” Norway said.

  “Come on then, let’s go.”

  They climbed down the ladder to each of the three nacelles, the menacing, grey Atlantic only twelve hundred feet below. Lou admired his friend, who showed no fear. Climbing down was no problem for Lou, but once inside the engine car, he felt uncomfortable. His heart rate accelerated and he began to sweat. He kept an eye on the exit to reassure himself there was a quick way out.

  In each of the three cars were two, brand-spanking new Rolls-Royce Condor IIIB liquid-cooled, V-12, 650 bph engines, in tandem—a total of six. They were barely broken in, having been installed only recently for the final test flight. The Air Ministry had decided, without fuss, to change the reconditioned engines Burney had forced on Wallis.

  To a mechanic, or anyone with a love of engines, these monsters were impressive and sounded sweet. After a few hand signals between themselves and the engineers, they left the engine car and went to the ladder, where they paused to look at Rathlin Island on port. It looked wild and remote in this force eight gale. They climbed back into the hull. Norway went to his cabin to write up his log and Lou changed into his uniform, ready for an early lunch, before going on duty.

  Lou returned to the empty dining room. One steward stood by the wall, his arms folded. Pierre greeted Lou with a welcoming smile.

  “It’s lovely to see you again, sir,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Lou said, sitting down.

  “You look much smarter in uniform, Commander, but I must say I did like you in your teddy.”

  Lou nodded modestly, noticing the other steward scowling.

  Pierre put a jug of water on the table. “We have beer, if you prefer?”

  “No, I’m going on watch. Water will do.”

  “For lunch we have mushroom soup, beef stew, mashed potatoes and peas.”

  “That’ll be fine, thank you.”

  Pierre hurried off to the kitchen with the steward following him. After hearing raised voices and grumbling, the sour-faced steward returned and placed a bowl of soup and a basket of bread in front of Lou without speaking. Lou got started.

  Pierre reappeared as Lou was finishing his soup. He picked up the plate and empty soup bowl. “Was the soup to your liking, sir?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “I was on the promenade deck earlier looking at the Scottish scenery. It’s lovely. Have you seen it?” Pierre asked.

  “Yeah, I saw it from the roof when I was up there.”

  “You were on the roof! Oh my goodness, you must be ever so careful.”

  “I was holding on, don’t worry.”

  “I’d love to go there. I’ve never been,” Pierre said.

  “On the roof?”

  “Oh no, no, silly! Scotland.”

  “Scotland, yeah, right.”

  “I expect you must be missing your wife, sir. I heard you were married to a most beautiful lady.”

  Lou cleared his throat, pretending not to have heard. He picked up his glass and swallowed a mouthful of water and Pierre scurried out. The steward returned, carrying Lou’s stew on a tray. He set it down and disappeared. Lou stared after him as Pierre reentered the room. He noticed Lou’s expression.

  “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s got the ’ump,” and then conspiratorially, “He can be a right little ‘you-know-what’ sometimes!”

  Lou finished his lunch and Pierre returned.

  “For dessert today we have greengages and custard,” he said.

  Greengages and custard!

  “I’ll take a pass on that.”

  “I thought you would,” Pierre said, puckering his lips.

  Hell! Now what have I said!

  “Oh, I do love your accent—I could listen to it all night,” Pierre said.

  Lou raised his eyebrows, but didn’t respond.

  “If I can do anything to make your voyage more pleasurable, I’m at your mercy … er I mean at your service, er sorry. My name’s Pierre, but you know that. If you’re in need of anything, I mean anything, please let me know …”

  Lou got up. “That’s very kind of you, Pierre. I don’t anticipate anything, but thank you just the same.”

  “What about coffee? Aren’t you staying for coffee?”

  Lou made his escape.

  Lou reported for duty at 11:45 a.m. in the control car with Cameron and one of the regular ship’s rudder coxswains. They’d picked up the favorable winds promised by Giblett around the Head of Islay and were heading due west along the last stretch of Ireland’s north coast. They’d stopped the aft engines and were now cruising on three at forty-five knots. With the favoring wind, the ship’s ground speed was now sixty-five knots. Steff and Johnston stayed with Lou and the two relief coxswains for ten minutes, lingering to look at Tory Island, five miles in the distance, before going for lunch.

  “Say goodbye to the Emerald Isle, lads,” Johnston said, putting on an Irish accent. That’s the last dry land you’ll see for seventeen hundred miles—‘til we reach Newfoundland.”

  Johnston turned one of the clocks back one hour to 11:00 a.m.

  “We just entered Greenwich Mean Time, Zone One,” he said.

  When they’d gone, Lou looked down at the ocean ahead. It was foreboding. He felt fear in the pit of his stomach, which caught him by surprise. He looked at the two coxswains. He knew they’d be having similar thoughts.

  “You lads okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” Cameron said gloomily.


  Lou wasn’t convinced.

  “Fine, sir,” the rudder coxswain said more brightly.

  63

  THE ATLANTIC

  Tuesday July 29, 1930.

  Lou returned his gaze to the ocean below. They were so low—at times it felt as though they were actually on the water. It looked pretty damned desolate and unfriendly out there. He wondered if they could’ve made it to New Jersey in R38 if she hadn’t broken in two.

  That's a good question.

  And what happened to that pilot and the heiress who’d attempted to make this crossing in a small plane? Lou had met the guy in Cardington with his wife, there to ask for assistance from the Meteorological Office. That was when Lou had first met Giblett, the weather guy. After the pilot and his wife had discussed weather patterns over the Atlantic with Giblett and Johnston, a whole crowd had gone with them to the Kings Arms pub. It was like a celebration—a send-off. Pretty soon the pilot and Richmond got into a dust up about whether planes or airships would prevail.

  Not long after that, the pilot and his heiress copilot took off from Cranwell Aerodrome and disappeared. The newspapers had been full of it and the public became totally engrossed. It was a weird story. Following their disappearance, the pilot’s wife went on a crusade in a bid to end the airship program—supposedly put up to it by her dead husband. Lou glanced at the whitecaps below and shook his head.

  Crazy people! What was their name? Hinkley? … Hinchliffe—that was it!

  Lou heard footsteps on the stairs. It was Scott and Colmore.

  “How’s everything, Commander?” Scott asked.

  “Everything’s fine, sir. We’ve a following wind now, giving us a boost. Should last for a couple of hours. We’re running on three.