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

by David Dennington

  The Daily Express asked:

  WILL R101 BE READY IN TIME FOR VOYAGE TO INDIA?

  The Daily Mirror would not let go of the morale and discipline story:

  AIR MINISTER DENIES RUMORS OF BREAKDOWN IN MORALE

  77

  RACE AGAINST TIME

  September 1930.

  They toiled through September at a feverish pace. Richmond arranged to make an inspection before bringing the ship out, with Lou, Rope, McWade, Irwin, Atherstone and the shop foreman, Ronnie, in attendance. The group trooped around the ship’s interior, looking at the padding.

  “They’ve done a fine job, Mr. McWade,” Richmond said.

  “They did what you asked. Not my idea of a fine job!”

  “You’ve carried out your instructions. That’s all that matters.”

  “What matters sir, are the lives of these young men. I maintain padding is not a satisfactory solution.”

  “Yes, yes, Mr. McWade, we’re all aware of your feelings on the subject. Let’s move on, shall we? I want to examine the cover.”

  They moved to the exterior of the ship and stood looking up at the canvas. The foreman pointed out that the cover had been replaced with the exception of the area between Frame 1 and Frame 3 at the front end. Richmond stood under the frames in question.

  “What about the rest, then?”

  “It’s in fairly good condition. We would replace every piece, but we don’t have time,” replied the foreman.

  McWade wasn’t satisfied. He made them follow him up on the scaffold. “I want you people to focus your eyes on this,” he said. “You think you’ve removed all the rotten fabric from this ship. Well, you haven’t.” He led them around poking his finger at the cover. Sometimes the cover held, other times his finger went clean through, like rotting paper.

  McWade glared at Richmond. “So, now what?”

  Richmond addressed Rope and Ronnie. “Get the whole crew on this. Put patches over the holes and weak areas and anywhere it looks doubtful,” he told them.

  “It’s all doubtful, if you ask me. I’ll be surprised if you make it to Dover!”

  Richmond stormed off.

  “This ship’s gonna have more pads, bandages and sticking plasters than the bloody Red Cross,” McWade sneered. Lou worried about Irwin. He looked physically ill.

  The Air Ministry decided Howden R100 would also receive an extra bay. Norway came down to discuss these modifications, although he didn’t believe it was necessary, and told Richmond as much. Naturally, his views were not well received. But he was glad of the work; Vickers was still paying his salary, for the moment anyway. Most of the staff at Howden had been laid off and he expected the axe to fall at any time.

  New designs for bigger and better dirigibles were on the boards at the R.A.W. Many in government urged a freeze until the two existing airships proved themselves before committing more money. One successful return trip across the Atlantic could’ve been due to sheer luck.

  While in Bedford, Norway stayed with Lou on Kelsey Street. Since their triumphant return from Canada, Norway had been treated with even more disdain by the R.A.W. (if that were possible). His only safe haven was in Booth’s office in Shed No. 2, where Howden R100 was presently housed. After Richmond’s inspection of Cardington R101, Lou took a piece of the cover to show them. None of them seemed happy when Lou stepped inside.

  “Come in, Lou. Nevil’s complaining because no one loves him,” Booth said.

  “There’s tea in the pot,” Meager said.

  Lou closed the door and poured himself a cup.

  “They’re treating me like a b-bloody leper,” Norway complained.

  “What do you expect, Nev? You’ve caused all this panic, all this worry and all this misery,” Lou said.

  “Many a true word spoken in jest!” Booth said.

  “Everything’s rubbed off on us. They won’t include us in anything either,” Meager grumbled. “We’re sitting in here with nothing to do all day. It’s all his fault.”

  “We upped the ante. Now you’re the enemy, too,” Norway said.

  Lou laid the cover sample on the table in front of Norway, without a word. Norway put on his thick-framed reading glasses and carefully picked up the fabric in two hands. As he did so, it crumbled to pieces.

  “Oh, my good Lord!” Norway gasped, while Booth and Meager gathered round. “W-w-what the hell is this? Where did this c-come from?”

  “Don’t panic, Nevil, it’s not off your ship. This is part of the old cover from R101 next door,” Lou replied.

  Norway turned the remaining piece over in his hands. “Look at this. They’ve stuck tapes on the inside as reinforcement and the adhesive is having a chemical reaction to the dope.”

  “You could be right,” Booth said.

  “I hope they d-don’t leave any of this on that ship.”

  “Most of the cover’s been replaced—they’re patching the rest.”

  “They need to remove all this r-rubbish!”

  “They’re trying to, but they’re running out of time,” Lou said.

  In late September, while the October fair was arriving in the village and setting up opposite Cardington field as usual, Cardington R101 was going through its lift and trim tests, which came out as follows:

  Fixed Weight 118 tons

  Gross Lift 167 tons

  Disposable Lift 49 tons

  These results were as expected, although still shy of requirements originally laid down by Thomson in 1924.The good news was that the two forward engines, Nos.1 and 2, were both now reversible, so they would no longer be carrying one engine as dead weight and had the benefit of much needed forward power on all engines. This would increase dynamic lift and help them stay airborne.

  78

  TRAIN RIDE NORTH

  September 25 - October 1, 1930.

  The ship was handed over to the flying staff a week behind schedule, but now the weather was taking the final bite out of allotted time for testing. It remained atrocious for the next five days. As the departure date loomed, Lou felt the need to make an effort to try and meet Charlotte. She hadn’t responded to his letter and Charlotte was all he thought about.

  Who knows? Maybe she didn’t receive it. Perhaps she hasn’t gone to her parents’ home. Maybe they haven’t heard from her either. Maybe she’s with this Robert guy. At least I’ll be able to talk to her mom and dad if I go up there.

  Lou went to Capt. Irwin and asked for permission to be away for one, possibly two days. Irwin encouraged him to go. Lou also spoke to Colmore, who was kind and sympathetic and wished him well. On October 1st, the weather abated and Lou went with Norway to witness the handling party walk Cardington R101 to the tower. Once moored, Howden R100 was brought out of Shed No. 2 and put into the longer shed for work to commence on the insertion of her own additional bay. This would be the first time the two ships had actually been visible together and Norway wanted a photograph.

  Afterwards, Norway ran Lou back to Kelsey Street, where he put on his best suit, clean white shirt and a smart red tie. Before leaving, he placed the writing case Charlotte had given him on the bed to take with him. Maybe he’d draft some letters home during the train journey. Then, as an afterthought, he removed the photo of them together from its gold frame and stuffed it in an envelope. He put it in the writing case. Lou wanted to travel by rail so he could dress decently. He decided against wearing his leather greatcoat.

  On the way to the station, Norway aired his employment woes.

  “I met with Richmond this morning,” he said.

  “How did that go?”

  “I asked him if they’d put me on the payroll while they insert the extra bay and do the modifications to our ship. I offered to stay here as consulting engineer for half my salary.”

  “I’m sure that went over real big!”

  “He flatly refused!”

  “You’re out of work then, basically?” Lou said.

  “They’re talking about more ships—but goodness
knows when that’ll be.”

  “I don’t think they like you much, Nev.”

  “I know.”

  “This is the perfect opportunity to write another novel!”

  “I’m out of ideas right now,” Norway said.

  “Hey, I got one for you. How about this: An American naval officer flies to Canada in a British airship. After escaping death twice on the way, he goes to visit his family in the U.S.A., ravaged by the Depression. He finds he’s run into a shit-storm; his family have lost everything; he gets mixed up with moonshine, the Ku Klux Klan, his old Army buddies in Shanty Town, the government and the military—and then his old girlfriend shows up!”

  They arrived outside the station.

  “Lou, Lou, Lou!” Norway said, shaking his head. Lou got out and stuck his head in the window. Norway continued. “I don’t know where you come up with these silly ideas. They’re daft! That kind of ph-ph-phantas-m-mag-g-goria would never appeal to my readers. They’re f-far too sophisticated for that kind of unrealistic silliness.”

  “You’re probably right—whatever that means.”

  “Lou, I wish you the very best of luck today,” Norway said. “I’d ask you to give her my love but it might q-queer your p-pitch.”

  “Make sure Billy’s okay. Tell him to get his stuff ready for India.’’

  Lou bought two dozen red roses at the florist next to the station before purchasing a ticket. He arrived in Wakefield two hours later and waited for the local train to Ackworth. Pretty soon, a steam train trundled in. The journey to Ackworth took twenty minutes.

  A wave of nostalgia overcame him. He remembered arriving there the first time with Charlotte to meet her parents. It was this same time of year—leaves on the ground rustling underfoot—their colors as bright as daffodils and plums in the sunshine. All the thoughts he’d had at that time rushed into his head. Now here he was, back to ask what had become of his bride. Humiliating!

  Under heavy cloud and spitting rain, Lou, clutching the roses, walked up the dirt road between the stone houses. As he got closer to Charlotte’s house, he had feelings of both dread and excitement. Would she be there? Perhaps she’d be thrilled to see him on the doorstep. Maybe she wasn’t there. Maybe she had found someone else. What sort of reception would her parents give him? Would they blame him for everything?

  His whole life depended on this unrequested (and perhaps unwelcome) visit. But the more he thought about it, he believed he was right to come. He should’ve come before now. Staying away meant he didn’t care. He felt confident and his spirits rose with every step.

  This is what men do—pursue. It’s what we’re meant to do.

  At last, he stood at the front gate. He glanced up at the rooftop. Smoke was coming from the chimney. The net curtains in the front window were drawn, preventing him from seeing in.

  The room where she was born!

  He hesitated for a moment, looking at where Charlotte’s swing used to hang from the oak tree. It was long gone—but he could see marks on the bough where it’d once been tied. He pushed down on the gate latch. The gate --squeaked as he opened it. They’d surely hear it. He figured the whole neighborhood must have. He went to the front door, sensing an aura of unfriendliness. He felt like a stranger, his confidence began to dwindle. He lifted the brass knocker and gingerly knocked once. He waited. Perhaps they couldn’t hear it if they were in the kitchen. He waited patiently for a few more minutes, his heart racing. No one answered.

  He knocked again, louder, twice. He waited, but no one came. He knocked three times, this time much louder. Hell, all the neighbors must have heard that! Still no one came. He carefully put the flowers down on the grass next to the stoop. They were beginning to droop and some of the petals had fallen off.

  He bent down and peered through the letter box. A few coats were hanging on hooks in the hallway—he spotted Charlotte’s—the blue one she wore in Switzerland. Beyond the foyer, the coal fire glowed in the grate in the living room—probably stoked less than half an hour ago. On the coffee table in front of the couch, he noticed a cup and saucer.

  Someone’s home.

  There was nothing next to Father’s easy chair on his shelf. No cup and saucer. No cigarettes.

  He must be at work.

  Lou left the flowers on the ground and went back to the front gate and into the street. He walked along the stone wall, past the house next door and into the alleyway leading to the back of the houses. He felt like an interloper. He’d ridden his motorbike round to the backyard many times. This place used to feel welcoming. Not anymore.

  He got to the back of the house, passing the outhouses, and went to the kitchen door. Hearing Lou’s footsteps on the gravel, the dog behind the fence next door started barking, while nearby chickens clucked and carried on. The curtains had been drawn across the window over the sink.

  That means they’re out—or they know I’m here.

  He knocked with his knuckles and got the same response. He tried the door. Locked. He glanced up at the windows next door. The curtains were also drawn, but he could swear they moved. Probably someone had been asleep. Many of these people were miners on shift work who slept during the day. Now the neighbor would be irritated. He thought about knocking on their door and asking about Charlotte.

  No, that would only make her mad as hell.

  Lou retraced his steps along the alley and returned to the front stoop and peeped through the letter box again. He could swear the cup and saucer had been moved. He was sure someone was home and knew he was there.

  Well, if they’re home and they won’t open the door that tells me all I need to know. No point in sticking around here.

  He scanned the windows again on the second and third floors—nothing. It began to rain. He took out a sheet of paper from the writing case and wrote:

  Dear Charlotte

  I had hoped to talk to you before leaving for India. Please remember I always loved you, and always will. I guess old Mrs. Tilly got it wrong.

  Lou signed the note, smudged by raindrops and put it in the envelope with the photograph of them together at the five-bar gate across the road. And then, on an impulse, he pulled off his wedding ring, slipped it in the envelope and sealed it. He pushed it through the letter box and, leaving the wilting flowers on the ground, left the front garden. He walked off toward the station, collar up, shoulders hunched against the cold rain. He wished he’d worn his leather greatcoat.

  “Go after him!” Charlotte’s mother implored.

  Mrs. Hamilton had spotted Lou first from her bedroom on the second floor as he came in the front gate. She rushed down to Charlotte who was sitting in the living room on the couch, reading and drinking tea.

  “Lou’s coming to the front door,” she whispered hoarsely. She didn’t know why she was whispering, but had anticipated Charlotte’s reaction.

  They heard a light knock on the door.

  “Don’t you dare open that door,” Charlotte hissed.

  Charlotte got up and went to the kitchen and pulled the curtains across the back window over the sink and turned the key in the lock. It was stiff. She couldn’t remember the last time it’d been locked. She returned to her mother in the living room and picked up her cup and saucer, and then put it back down. He must’ve seen it there.

  “Come on, we must go upstairs,” she murmured, her eyes determined. The two women sneaked up the staircase, to Charlotte’s parents’ bedroom, overlooking the front garden. They peeped down through the net curtains and saw Lou standing at the door. There were two more knocks.

  “Charlotte, why don’t you go down and talk to him.”

  “No, I won’t!”

  “Oh, Charlotte, he’s come all this way. You can’t leave him standing out there in the rain.”

  “Mother, I will not speak to him. I don’t want any more to do with him.”

  “How can you be so cruel? He’s such a lovely fella.”

  “I don’t love him anymore. There can be no happiness with an
airshipman.”

  “Perhaps you could talk him out of it.”

  “No, he’s committed. You don’t understand. I’ve tried a thousand times. He has his reasons. I’ve no control over that. Now leave it be.”

  They followed Lou’s movements as he tried the back of the house. They saw him returning to the front door. A minute or two later, they heard the letter box snap shut. They watched him walk off up the road toward the station.

  “Oh, Charlotte, go after him. He’s so thin and gaunt. Look at him! He’s your husband. You made a vow—for better or for worse.” Tears were springing from her eyes. “Go after him! I can’t bear it—it breaks my heart to see him like this.”

  “Let it be, Mother!”

  It was raining hard now, with gusty winds. The leaves fell on the road, leaving a slippery, mustard and brown carpet. Surreal, ominous clouds shifted overhead, occasionally revealing vivid blue sky and shafts of sunshine, illuminating fields each side in patches.

  He trudged up the deserted street toward the station. Rain soaked through his jacket, chilling him to the bone. A spectacular rainbow arched over his road ahead. The vicious irony of it infuriated him, and with every step he took, he became more angry. When he got to the station, the stationmaster told him the next train was due in twenty minutes. He slumped down on the bench in the empty waiting room, fuming. He was mad at himself for bothering to come. She’d made it plain she didn’t want him to make contact.

  Stubborn Yorkshire b…

  He couldn’t bring himself to say it again, even to himself.

  Charlotte’s mother came downstairs, wiping her tears with a handkerchief. She went to the vestibule and picked up the envelope from the mat, then opened the front door and warily peered outside. Petals were being beaten off the roses by water cascading from the roof. She gently scooped them up and took them to the kitchen table. She was cutting the stems and placing them in a vase when Charlotte entered the room.